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WESTERN TRACT SOCIETY: 

422 Elm Street, Cincinnati, Ohio. 


VJ 

Priest and Nun, 


X> X 

Mrs. JULIA McNAIR WRIGHT, 

AUTHOR OF 

^‘Almost a Nun,” “ Shoe Binders of New York,” “New York 
Needle-Woman,” “New York Bible-Woman,” Etc., Etc, 


with A 


VALUABLE APPENDIX BY THE PUBLISHERS. 


“ Say is it wise, 

Or right, or safe, for some chance good to-day, 

To dare the vengeance of to-morrow’s skies? 

Be wiser, thou dear land, my native home ; 

Do always good, do good that good may come. 

The path of duty plain before thee lies: 

Break, break the spells of the enchantress, Rome! ” 



», •> > 


NOTE BY THE PUBLISHERS. 


We send this book out with the confident assur- 
ance that it will interest its readers, and in the firm 
belief that it will be productive of great good, not 
only in the United States, but in England ; having 
pleasure in announcing an arrangement with Messrs. 
Hodder & Stoughton , of London , for its contempora- 
neous issue in the two countries. 

Providentially, when we had nearly finished the 
stereotyping of the work, the senior member of that 
firm, being on a business tour in this country, called 
upon us, and, after an examination of the proof-sheets 
submitted to him, was so fully impressed with the 
excellence of the book, and with its peculiar adap- 
tation to the present exigency of the times in Eng- 
land as well as here, that he readily negotiated with 
us for a duplicate set of stereotype plates, and for 
electrotypes of the fine wood-cuts with which it is 
illustrated ; very honorably, also, contracting to allow 
us a royalty on sales effected, although not legally 
protected by any international copyright law. 

NOTE TO SEVENTH EDITION. Aug. 30 , 1870 . 

The publishers are happy to acknowledge the great favor with which 
“ Priest and Nun” has been received by the public, and to announce 
that the book has met with such success as to demand the printing of 
the sixteenth thousand in twelve months from the date of first issue. 


CONTENTS. 


PART FIRST. 

SHOWING HOW ROME NOURISHED AND BROUGHT UP CHILDREN. 

CHAPTER PA8B 

I. Consecration of the Children 11 

II. Why they were Rome’s Children 34 

III. Beautiful Institution for the Children 55 

IV. Reverend Mothers of the Children 79 

V. Secret Guardians of the Children 116 

VI. Confirmation of the Children 138 

PART SECOND. 

SHOWING THE MANNER OF ROME’S CHILDREN. 

I. Nun or Not 165 

II. Agnes. — The Missouri Nun. — Estelle 192 

III. The White Veil 230 

IV. Veil and Wreath 255 

V. Reaping the Whirlwind 285 

VI. The Gates of Death 311 

1 * 5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PART THIRD. 

SHOWING HOW ROME’S CHILDREN REBELLED AGAINST HER. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Grace’s Kecovery and the Results of her Sick- 
ness 329 

II. Richard’s Test 356 

III. A Dying Actor 383 

IV. Lilly’s Flight 407 

V. Lilly’s Death. — The Two Prisoners 432 

Vi. Plottings. — The Cholera. — Thb Broken Snare. 454 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATION s. * 


PA»1 

1. — PROCESSION OF GIRLS ENTERING CHURCH OF ST. JOSEPH, TO 

BE CONSECRATED TO THE VIRGIN [See Page 29] Frontispiece 

2. — LILLY AND HER MOTHER 24 

3. — ONE PERSON IN TWO CHARACTERS: “ ANNETTE “ SISTER 

CLEMENT ” SI 

4. — PRIEST MURPHY BURNING “ BUNYAN ” AND “ MILTON ” 140 

5. — FLIGHT OF THE MISSOURI NUN 202 

6. — SCENE ON GOAT ISLAND, NIAGARA 262 

* 7.— PRIEST MURPHY— CARDS— WHISKY PUNCH, ETC 305 

\ 

8. — DEATH OF PAUL LUOLLI 398 

9. -“ THEM IS THREE LUNYTICS— LUCKY I GOT RID OF ’EM i" 172 


7 


NOTE TO PUBLISHERS. 


The Board of the Western Tract and Book 
Society, impressed with the fact that by the 
increase of Romanism in our midst, there is 
danger not only to the moral and spiritual in 
terests of the people of the United States, 
but also to their civil and religious liberties, 
have therefore purchased the plates and copy- 
right of “Priest and Nun,” and now send 
it out to warn und enlighten its readers, con- 
cerning the system of Romanism, which has 
done so much, whrever it has had the power, 
to keep in ignorance, oppress and degrade its 
subjects. 


J 


PART FIRST 


SHOWING HOW ROME NOURISHED AND BROUGHT UP 

CHILDREN. 


Priest and Nun. 


CHAPTER I. 


CONSECRATION OF THE CHILDREN . 

" The cloister — where, above all other places, the deceitful heart 
seems to learn the art of calling evil, good, and good, evil.” — R. 
J. Breckinridge, D.D. 

« N a bright, warm Sabbath in April three girls 
are to be consecrated, with others, to the Virgin, 
j The families to which these girls belong are by 
no means common people. They have wealth, social 
position and what is called education. They pride 
themselves on their * reputable birth, high breeding 
and descent from “good families.” They do not 
trace their ancestral line back to Adam, for that any 
poor sinner may do, and by his very sinfulness prove 
his paternity. The roots of their family tree take 
hold on the Conquest; they had once a little “de” in 
the family, and they speak with infinite satisfaction 
of Norman blood. They belong to highly respect- 
able society — in short, to the very cr$me de la creme 


12 


PRIEST AND NUN 


of American city life — and are not to be set aside ad 
nobodies because they become perverts to Rome. 

Rome says she tolerates and loves her dear Protest- 
ant children — she longs to take and cherish them in 
her maternal bosom — and the history of these two 
families may illustrate the sincerity of her pro- 
fessed loving regard. A majority of these house- 
holds — once unhappy heretics in Rome’s estimation — 
have been artfully drawn within the fold of “the 
only true Church/’ and, with the love and zeal com- 
mon to proselytes, the works of their spiritual 
Mother they do. Not content with dedicating their 
children to the Lord, like devout Papists they would 
also consecrate them to the Virgin Mary. 

These two families reside in two fine brick houses 
that face each other on one of the “ best” streets of the 
city. 

Let us enter one of these homes. It is a well- 
appointed house indeed, with marble steps and por- 
tico, square hall of entrance with marble and stained 
glass in plenty, broad inner hall and staircase fur- 
nished in the highest style of the upholsterer’s art, and 
through this we will pass up to a large front room. 
This can be done much more easily than you could 
find your way through the involved relationships of 
the family here abiding. This front room is occu- 
pied by the two daughters of the house — two of the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


13 


three girls introduced to us at the opening of the 
chapter. It is a charming apartment — the bed high 
overarched with canopy of crimson silk, the mirror 
reaching from floor to ceiling, the toilette-table per- 
fect in its various appliances. On the toilette-table 
lay a box from the milliner's, holding discord all un- 
suspected, and on the bed are carefully displayed the 
shining, undisturbed folds of two dresses of white 
alpaca with satin pipings. 

In opposite corners of this room are the duplicate 
emblems of this family's creed. In each, suspended 
by a heavy gilt cord, hangs an oval frame of choice 
workmanship, this frame filled with black velvet, and 
the velvet serving as a rich relief to the pearl crucifix 
fastened upon it. Beneath this framed crucifix stands 
a rosewood table with a top of sandal-wood mosaic ; 
on the table a breviary bound in scarlet, an open dish 
of fragrant hot-house flowers, a rosary whose beads 
— strange fate ! — were cut from lava flung from the 
fiery heart of Vesuvius, and most precious of all, a 
vial of water dipped from the Tiber and blessed by 
the Pope. The furnishings of these two corners did 
not differ save in the embroidery upon two small 
chairs and footstools before the tables. As we shall 
learn from the satin paper-box which came from 
“Mrs. Deane, Fashionable Milliner," if the corners 

had differed trouble would have sprung therefrom. 

2 


14 


PRIEST AND NUN 


The apartment is provided with two dressing- 
rooms. A tidy lady’s maid, in waiting, has placed a 
chair in front of the mirror and stands behind it 
brush and comb in hand, ready to begin her w'ork 
whenever a subject shall present herself. And now, 
almost simultaneously, from each dressing-room walks 
a girl of fourteen. 

They are pretty creatures, with their faces fresh 
from the bath, their damp hair falling over plump 
white necks, their slippered feet peeping from the 
lace, tucks and cambric of their skirts. The girl 
with curly, auburn hair steps the quicker and 
seats herself in the chair before the mirror. The 
brown-haired damsel shrugs her shoulders and looks 
about for a book. The maid hands her a dressing- 
sacque and a small red volume, whereupon she es- 
tablishes herself on a hassock and begins to study as 
if she had no other object in life. 

“Give me my Catechism too, Lucy,” says miss in 
the chair ; “ I’m sure I’ve forgotten every solitary 
word of it. Do you know yours, Grace?” 

“ Don’t bother me, Adelaide,” replies Grace, with 
indifference, though it would have been shorter to 
say “ yes” or “ no.” 

Adelaide now addressed her maid: “Lucy, how 
many times do you suppose you have said the ‘ Hail 
Mary?’” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


I 


“Oh my, miss, a million at least; it's just tacked 
on to everything. As, of course, is proper.” 

“ Grace, I wonder what Lilly means to wear !” 

“ Oh, clothes,” said Grace, rattling over question 
and answer. “ This tiresome Catechism slips out oi 
my mind so fast.” 

“ I’m sure I’ve learned it fifty times perfectly. 
Lucy, put on my shoes before you do Grace’s hair. 
Mind, Lucy, that you put our white shoes in the 
bag; it would be dreadful to get there without 
them.” 

“ Not half so dreadful as not to know what we. 
are to do or say,” said Grace. 

“Yes it would,” persisted Adelaide ; “the idea of 
getting up there before all the folks in the cathedral 
with black shoes on ! Why I wouldn’t for a king- 
dom ; I had rather not be consecrated. I’ll tell you 
what I would do. Father Murphy ’d just have to 
wait until Lucy ran after the shoes !” 

Grace opened her eyes and the maid was horrified 
at this astounding assertion. Adelaide was delighted 
with the effect of her remarks. She tossed her well- 
curled head and reiterated, “ 1 certainly would , and 
if he didn’t wait I’d turn heretic and join the 
Methodists.” 

“You’ll have to confess that, Adelaide Grant.” 

H Bah !” said Adelaide, ungenteelly, resigning hei 


16 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


chair in favor of Grace. “I’ll confess just what i 
please.” 

“ But you know what* the Catechism says *. If wt 
conceal a thing at confession we ‘ commit great sin 
by telling a lie to the Holy Ghost, and make 0111 
confession nothing worth/” 

“ Pooh, pooh, pooh !” cried Adelaide, gayly spin- 
ning about on one toe until her skirts stood out like 
those of a “ fate lady.” “ Why, Gracie, do you 
suppose the Catechism means all it says ?” 

“ Of course it does,” replied Grace, sedately, sub- 
mitting to have her hair curiously braided by the 
skillful Lucy. 

Meanwhile, we are sorry to say that although it 
was Sabbath, and she on the eve of taking part in a 
religious act, our Adelaide pirouetted about the room, 
practicing the last new airs and graces learned from 
her dancing-master, and, in her present ballet cos- 
tume, much to her own satisfaction. 

“ For shame, Adelaide !” said the serious Grace ; 
* you had better be saying your prayers.” 

“ Oh, they 1 re all done !” cried the flippant child. 
“ I did them all up before I got out of bed this 
morning.” 

“ Miss Grace always says hers devoutly at her prie - 
Dieu ,” said Lucy. 

“ Ah, yes ; but Pm afraid Pll wear out my pri& 


PRIEST AND NUN 


17 

Dim . I would not spend another three months 
working one for a fortune. I made so many mis- 
takes that Sister Cecelia was as cross as two sticks.” 

“ A Sister cross !” cried Lucy. 

“ To be sure ; they’re folks like the rest of us/ and 
why not let them have the satisfaction of getting 
cross ?” and Adelaide danced into the dress her maid 
was holding out to her, while Grace quietly put on 
her own. “Do you think,” cried Adelaide, with the 
air of one asking information of deep interest, “ that 
these dresses are as handsome as the ones we wore at 
confirmation last year?” 

“ Why, yes,” replied Lucy, weighing the mattei 
carefully. 

“ Grace, what do you suppose there will be for us 
;o do — in church I mean — next year? Last year 
was confirmation ; this year is consecration ; what 
next?” 

“ You might take the veil,” suggested the unwary 
T aicy 

Adelaide threw up her hands and uttered a queer 
little exclamation ; then, preserving the tragic attitude, 
flew to the mirror : “ Grace, as sure as you’re alive, 
this is just the way Madame Virginie acted in Atha- 
! ie the other night. I believe I was born for an 
actress. If there’s nothing to do in the church next 
vear, I think I’ll go on the stage.” 

1 • R 


18 


PRIEST AND NUN, 


“ Oh, Miss Adelaide, you’ll never be dressed if you 
will not keep still ; do let me put on your sash and 
Lucy opened the luckless box on the table and took 
out two rolls of rich ribbon. 

The quick-eyed girls uttered an exclamation, and 
each laid hold of the satin sash. “ I’ll have this,” 
said Grace, in her incisive way. 

“No, Grace Kemp, I must have it. The satin is 
mine.” 

“Your mother thought them alike. Miss Ade- 
laide ; this watered ribbon is handsomer,” cried Lucy. 

“ Not with satin shoes and pipings. I’ll have the 
satin. Do give it up, Grace.” 

“ You always want me to give it up !” exclaimed 
Grace, “but this time I shall not. I’m a month 
older than you, and I have as much right to the 
satin sash as you have.” 

“ Miss Adelaide, you will be late to the cathedra],” 
interposed Lucy. “ Wouldn’t you let me put on this 
watered ribbon? — I’m sure it’s a beauty.” 

“ No, not if I never go there ; 1 tell you I won’t 
wear that thing !” cried Adelaide, stamping her 
foot. 

“ Not dressed yet, girls? why, what is the matter?” 
said a lady who now entered the room. She was 
like Adelaide in features and complexion, a little 
faded by her forty years ; a very precise and finished 


PRIEST AND NUN 


19 


woman of the world, whose eyes were mild and of a 
light hazel, and whose chin retreated just a very 
little. 

“Why didn’t you buy our sashes alike?” cried 
Adelaide, rudely. 

“The sashes, ma’am — they both want the satin 
one,” explained Lucy. 

“ How very careless of Madame Barry !” said Mrs. 
Kemp, taking a sash in either white, jeweled hand, 
and looking uncertainly at the two girls. 

“ I think, ma’am, that you’ll have to send for 
another,” said Grace, coolly, “ for neither of us will 
wear that one.” 

“ But this is Sunday morning, my child, and 
madame’s store is shut. Adelaide,, my dear, let 
Grace have the sash she wants.” 

“ I’ll stay home from church first,” said Ade- 
laide. 

“ Grace, I’m sure you will not mind ; let Adelaide 
have this satin ribbon to oblige me, my love.” 

“ I’m for ever asked to give up to Adelaide. I 
have as good a right to my own way as she.” 

“ That is true. Adelaide, what will Sister Cecelia 
say if you are late, for a silly quarrel ? I wish she 
were here to manage you.” 

“ I don’t care what she says, and I sha’n’t be man- 
aged by anybody,” retorted Adelaide. 


20 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mrs. Kemp looked from one girl to the other m 
despair, and then at the clock. But now Lucy 
turned to Grace : 

“ Fm sure, miss, when you are so well prepared, 
and know all your questions, and you such a favorite 
of Father Murphy, and you to be consecrated to out 
Blessed Lady, you will not quarrel with your sister 
about a bit of sash, who knows not nearly so much 
religion as you do, nor can say her prayers and her 
questions to equal you. You might set her a good 
example, miss, as a child of our Blessed Lady 
should.” 

This was but a disjointed exhortation to be sure, 
but Grace had had time to change her mind. Site 
held out her hand for the despised sash. 

“ Thank you, Grace !” says Mrs. Kemp, quite re- 
lieved. “ Now, daughter Adelaide, I hope you're 
satisfied.” 

“ I always am satisfied when I have my own way,” 
replied Adelaide, unabashed. 

“ Indeed, Miss Grace,” said Lucy, “ you're a true 
child of our Lady, and I don’t misdoubt you’ll be 
like your holy aunt, — our — mother of the Immaculate 
Heart of Mary.” 

4 Yes, yes,” cried Adelaide, her sash now properly 
>cwed, “do let us see how you would look, Grace;” 
and catching up a cambric kerchief she pulled it 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


21 

about her sister’s face, and wrapped a black veii 
above it, after the fashion of a nun’s headgear 
“ Gracious, child, you look like the c Mother’ to the 
life!” 

“ Oh, Miss Adelaide, your sister’s hair ! — you will 
have it mussed so I must do it over !” cried Lucy. 

“ Let me alone, Adelaide ; how silly you are !” said 
Grace. 

“ Adelaide, pray act like a lady,” remonstrated the 
mother. 

After all this folly and bustle consuming the morn- 
ing of the day claimed by the Creator as his own, 
Mrs. Kemp, Grace and Adelaide were ready to set 
out for the cathedral, Lucy following with the sat- 
chel containing white wreaths for the girls’ heads 
and white shoes for their feet. 

Much did Lucy think of the rite in which hei 
young ladies were to participate. To her simple 
mind it was something that should lift them out of 
their common life and make them sacred, as were the 
treasures of old laid up in the ark of God. 

As for the girls, they were troubled with no such 
serious reflections. Adelaide, being dressed to her 
taste, was in exuberant spirits, while Grace walked 
with more than her usual dignity and self-conscious- 
ness, for to herself she seemed the centre of the little 
ceremony — we had almost written comedy — which 


22 


PRIEST AND NUN 


was to be performed before the admiring throng in 
the cathedral. 

But now that we have Grace and Adelaide safely 
started toward the cathedral, we must go back a 
little in point of time and see what has been going 
on in the “ fine brick house” opposite Mr. Kemp’s 
This house was the home of Judge Schuyler. 

Lilly Schuyler was being dressed in a white cos- 
tume, even more rich and elaborate than that of her 
youthful neighbors. She was a delicate-looking girl 
with hair of the palest flaxen hue, shining and soft, 
and curling about her neck. She had the large / 
dreamy eyes, the transparent complexion and the 
mobile mouth of an enthusiast, looking more like 
the ideal of angel or fairy on a painter’s canvas than 
a veritable being of flesh and blood. Yet there 
were two or three lines and touches of expression on 
her face that showed she might be resolute as im- 
pressionable. Her room looked almost as much like 
a little chapel or oratory as a young girl’s apartment. 
Besides the crucifix, holy water, flowers and prie-Dieu 9 
where she might properly say her prayers, there was 
a shrine sacred to the Virgin Mary, whereon stood a 
large doll dressed in white silk, with a spangled 
blonde cloak, a small silver diadem on its head, 
Lilly’s best chain and locket about its neck, and her 
one jewel, a small diamond pin, shining on its un- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


2 ? 

stirring bosom. This image was our Blessed Lady 
patroness, not only of Lilly Schuyler, but of the Hoi) 
Church, and chosen by our Father of Rome as the 
patroness of America — said America being yet but a 
sprawling heretical infant, yet expected by our afore- 
said Father to grow up as a good many other infants 
have done, to zealous and obedient popish manhood. 

About Lilly’s room hung twelve small paintings, 
the twelve stations which hang in churches and are 
preached about in Lent. There was also hung oppo- 
site her bed a fine oil-painting of Our Lady of Seven 
Sorrows. 

There was another lady in Lilly’s room, who 
seemed more truly sorrowful than the Lady who 
held the heart with seven arrows in it in the picture. 
The living lady sat by a window looking into the 
6treet, one hand lying listlessly in her lap, the other 
holding a handkerchief, wherewith she now and then 
wiped the tears that rolled silently down her cheeks. 
This lady was Lilly’s mother, and Lilly and her maid 
frequently glanced toward her — the maid, Hannah, 
with eyes of respectful commiseration, Lilly with 
mingled anxiety and obstinacy. 

Lilly passively submitted to be dressed, giving no 
heed to the matter at all; unlike Grace and Ade- 
laide, she was occupied entirely with the religious part 
of the morning exercises ; her little hands told over 


24 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


her rosary, while her lips moved rapidly, and one 
moment she looked at the crucifix and the next at 
the shrine of the Virgin. Glancing often at her 
mother, various emotions contended in her face as she 
saw that mother’s grief. 

“ How bad your ma do feel, Miss Lilly I” said 
Hannah under her breath. 

Lilly sighed and looked at her Virgin. 

“ She’s breaking her heart, Miss Lilly, and you all 
the child she has. Don’t you do it, miss.” 

“ Hush, Hannah. Am I dressed? Well, then, 
you may go and wait for me in the hall.” 

Thus Lilly was left alone with her mother. She 
stole up to her and touched her arm : “ T am all 
dressed, mother.” 

% 

There was no response. 

“Won’t you look at me?" asked Lilly, tremu- 
lously. 

The lady turned and gazed with tearful eyes at 
the little white-robed figure by her side. 

“ Lilly,” she said, “ you will break my heart.” 

“ What, mother ! just by being consecrated to the 
Virgin ?” 

“ No, but this is only one step among the many 
that shall take you from me for ever.” 

“ No, mother !” cried Lilly, clasping her hands and 
her eyes growing radiant in her enthusiasm ; “ you 



Page 24^ 



PRIEST AND NUN. 


25 


shall come with me; you shall come into the true 
Church, where father and I are. This makes me 
more ready to go, so that you will come too, mother/' 

“ No,” said Mrs. Schuyler, “ I shall never turn in 
my trouble to that Church which has separated me 
from my child — that Church which has taken from 
me my dearest treasure. Child as you are, Lilly, 
do you belong to me any more? Have not priests 
and nuns come between you and your mother ? Af- 
ter all these years, when you have been my one 
thought, do you not go to those whom you oall your 
Mother and your Sisters, and trust them instead of 
me, and follow their counsel to disobey me, and leave 
me lonely that you may spend your time with them ? 
And so it will be until I am a lonely old woman, 
without a daughter or a comfort in all the world.” 

Lilly was weeping too. “ I do love you mother ; 
1 do trust you. I will not leave you alone in the 
world,” she sobbed. 

“ Yes, Lilly, and this very moment there is one of 
your nuns waiting for you in the parlor, to take you 
to a ceremony which I think both idle and wicked, 
and from which I have besought you to turn.” 

“ But father allows me, mother,” said Lilly. 

“ Yes, Father Murphy is setting against me both 
husband and child. He tells you, Lilly — for whom I 
have lived and hoped these fourteen years — that I am 


26 


PRIEST AXI) NUN. 


i heretic and unfit to guide you, and he counsels your 
father to take you from my influence ;” and the ex- 
cited and unhappy woman bowed her face to her lap 
and wept bitterly. 

“ Miss Lilly/’ said Hannah at the door, “ Saint 
Cecelia says you must come or you will be late.” 

“ Good-bye, mother,” said Lilly, and getting no 
reply, kissed the back of her mother’s bowed neck, 
and then with a humble reverence to Our Lady’s 
shrine, as if passing a royal presence, Lilly left the 
room. 

Saint Cecelia was a small, shriveled, cl ear- voiced 
woman, in coarse black dress, broad black apron 
reaching to the hem of her gown, a rosary at hei 
waist, a kerchief about her colorless face and a black 
tiood on her head, her whole garb being unsuggestive 
of the saintly, except to prejudiced minds. 

“ What is my dear child crying about?” asked the 
nun. 

“ Mother feels so dreadfully,” gasped Lilly. 

“ You must not mind that” said the Sister as they 
left the house; “ this may help to your mother’s 
conversion.” 

“She mourns so that you are all taking me away 
from her,” said Lilly, sadly. 

“ If she were a good Catholic, and not a heretic, 
die would rejoice over that ; we must mortify the de- 


PRIEST AND NUN 


27 


sires and affections of the flesh,” said the sympathetic 
Sister. 

“ She said I am breaking her heart,” cried Lilly ; 
“ and oh, Saint Cecelia, suppose I am — suppose my 
dear mother should die? 

“ Then I dare say that our prayers would cause her 
to die in the Holy Catholic faith ; and of course you 
know, dear child, that it is better to die a Catholic 
than to live a heretic.” 

On went the child in white and delicate array, 
beside the Sister in rough black garb, thus symbol- 
izing the course of Rome’s proselyte, from the first fair 
allurements to the days of living death. Saint Cece- 
lia, with her crucifix held between her clasped hands, 
tranquilly pursued her way; but Lilly constantly 
wiped her flowing tears with her small morsel of 
pocket handkerchief. 

" My dear child,” said the calm monotone of Saint 
Cecelia, “ it would be well to cease crying ; some one 
meeting us may suppose this gracious privilege of 
consecration an unwilling sacrifice, or judge that our 
gracious Mother the Church is unable to comfort her 
children.” 

Lilly obediently gave her distressed face a hna) 
wipe with her wet handkerchief, yet pressed her 
small hand to her fluttering heart, and caught a sob- 
bing breath every now and then. 


28 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ My clear child,” said Saint Cecelia, regarding the 
sad, sensitive, flower-like face as calmly as one 
would regard some wet pebble in the bed of any 
little brook, “ this all comes of your not being con- 
firmed. If you had done right and come to the arms 
of the Church, she would have supplied to you the 
place of any mother whatsoever, and, safe in her em- 
brace, you could not have so rebelliously wept over 
the grief of any heretic.” 

“ But she is my mother ,” gasped Lilly, piteously. 

“ Do you know what our Holy Church says ?” re- 
plied the nun : “ He that loveth father or mother 
more than me is not worthy of me.” 

But they were nearing the lofty front of St. Joseph 
the Just, and Saint Cecelia saw that her little charge 
must be soothed; so she said: “It is not unlikely 
that your prayers, vows, offerings, penances and other 
acts of religion will be blessed to the conversion of 
your mother. Think, dear child, of your joy at 
saving your mother’s soul ! You are now to be 
given to our Blessed Lady, and you must beset her 
with prayers night and day for your mother’s good. 
You cannot serve our Lady too well. For myself, I 
set apart the first day of every month as a day of 
prayer and praise to Mary.” 

Herein our zealous nun exceeded and anticipated 
our Father the Pope, who had not then ordered the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


29 


eighth day of December as a Festival of Obligation 
in honor of the Virgin. 

And now they entered the vestry, and there were 
Grace and Adelaide duly wreathed and in the requis- 
ite white gaiters, and there were about twenty other 
girls of equal age ; and now they were placed in order 
by the Sisters, and with slow steps and bent heads, 
a white-clad procession, upon whose footsteps hung 
the nuns, as clouds hang sometimes where bars of 
white moonlight have broken through, they stole to 
the sound of soft organ music through the grand en- 
hance door of St. Joseph the Just. 

(I suppose you have all read the story of the Mino- 
taur and the Labyrinth of Crete.) 

The ceremony of consecration was but a small 
affair in itself, the preparations and dressing being 
the greater part. There were some questions, music 
and prayers, and then these girls were supposed to 
have been placed under the especial patronage of the 
Virgin, sure of her protection and intercession, and 
forming perhaps some sort of juvenile sodality 
vowed to Mariolatry — a polite and modern form of 
paganism. 

The service over, Saint Cecelia took Lilly home. 
The girl was a charge too precious to have less than 
the most watchful care. “ Saint Cecelia, what shall 
I do to-day ?” asked the girl, meekly. 


30 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ Fast, my child, until evening. Spend two hours 
in adoration of our Blessed Virgin and be punctual 
at vespers.” 

Oh, crafty Sister! Fast until evening? There 
would be then no dinner with her mother. Two 
hours of adoration at our Lady’s shrine? The 
young heart would then be strengthened against that 
mother’s sad reproachful face. Early at vespers, and 
lost the evening hour when mother and child might 
sit together in the gathering twilight. 

Sister Cecelia had one crowning merit — she wrote 
a most beautiful hand. She formed English, French 
and German script like the fairest specimens of cop- 
per-plate. Before her humble girlhood two paths of 
life had opened — to be a writing-mistress in schools 
and private families, or to bring herself and her talent 
into the convent. Deciding to take vows and the veil, 
she at once became a saint. Oh, short and broad and 
easy road to heaven — a garb, a promise, a fixed rou- 
tine of living; and lo! a portal, said of salvation, 
opened wide. If we might but be sur'e it is one of the 
pearl portals opening on the golden street of God’s 
city, and not that back door on the under side of a 
hill which Bunyan saw in vision ! 

As in duty bound, when at so little sacrifice of her 
loneliness and poverty Sister Cecelia had from the 
Church at once her daily living and her saintship, 


PRIEST AND NUN 


31 


->7ie served that Church with ardor. We can give no 
better definition of this nun than that we find in 
“ The Constitutions and Declarations of the Jesuits/’ 
published in France in 17.62. “One ought to per- 
mit himself to be conducted and . directed as if a 
corpse, which is moved as any one wills; or as 
the cane in an old man’s hand, which serves any end 
for which the owner employs it, and upon whatever 
side he chooses to turn it.” 

Sister Cecelia lived, moved, wrote (copies), spoke, 
thought, for tne Church. Her even, gliding step, 
her cold, steady eye, her monotone running in set 
form, “My dear child, thus and so,” as clear, as even 
and as unexpressive as endless repetitions of E flat in 
the treble, with never another note struck between, 
were all the outward tokens of her passive, unreason- 
ing, unstirred inner life. 

Lilly bade her adviser “ good-morning” and went 
up alone to her room. The bell for dinner was ring- 
ing, but she was bent on fasting and two hours of 
“ adoration.” 

“Please come to dinner, Miss Lilly, your ma 
says,” called Hannah at Lilly’s locked door. 

“Tell mamma that I am to fast to-day,” cried 
Lilly, clearly. She was already kneeling on a little 
cushion before the marble table that held “Our 
Lady.” 


32 


PRIEST AND NUN 


Hannah gave Miss Lilly's message to Mrs. Schuy- 
ler. The lady made no reply, but left her food un- 
tasted on her plate, and sat, her head resting on her 
hand, at her lonely board. Judge Schuyler had been 
invited to dine with Father Murphy and one or two 
other Romanists of high authority. The judge, a new 
and valuable convert, was treated with great respect 
by these ghostly fathers; indeed the judge had been 
invited to visit Archbishop Hughes, and had re- 
ceived from Rome the picture of a famous cardinal 
set in gold. Mrs. Schuyler, being a misguided here- 
tic, did not feel any less lonely in her large dining- 
room because the husband, who should have sat 
opposite her, was dining with Father Murphy, and 
because the daughter, who should have been beside 
her, was fasting by order of Saint Cecelia. Indeed, we 
think she was only the more lonely and sad as she 
thought of these causes of her desertion, and saw the 
gulf between herself and her kindred growing wider 
every hour. 

Presently she rang a bell : “ Take the dinner away, 
Henry ; I do not want anything to-day,” she said, 
and then went up to her parlor: but the parlor 
was as lonely as the dining-room. She looked across 
the street. Mr. Kemp was just coming from his 
front door, with a cigar in his mouth, drawing on his 
gloves for a cheerful Sunday stroll He nodded at 


PRIEST AND NUN 


33 


her as he saw her pale face at her window. Mr. 
Kemp was her brother. 

“Yes,” sighed Mrs. Schuyler, apostrophizing hei 
brother’s retreating figure, “ it seems as if our family 
were under some especial curse : first you went over 
to Rome, then my husband, and, as if I were not 
wretched enough, they have taken away my child. 
They have taken away my child, and what have I 
more ?” It was as if she lifted up the doleful cry of 
Micah, following his captured gods. 

Mrs. Schuyler’s friends called her “ a lovely wo- 
man,” “an amiable woman.” She was also unde- 
niably a weak woman ; even to her child she had 
n&ver dared speak strong, earnest words for the relig- 
ion she professed; she had never knelt with that child 
to pray, never questioned as to the state of her heart 
toward God, never besought her to embrace f?ie 
Saviour. When she saw that child thrown among 
popish influences and companions, she dared not in- 
terfere because those companions were relatives. 
When the child was sent to a convent-school — the act 
was the father’s — the mother ventured a faint remon- 
strance, and like other weak women could but resort 
to tears. Had this mother but been able to firmly 
fulfill a mother’s duties, perchance no one could ever 
have come between her and her child, but closely 
together they might have walked toward heaven. 


CHAPTER II. 


WHY THEY WERE ROME'S CHILDREN . 

1 ILLY had come back from vespers, and now had 
a little time to devote to her mother. Judge 
^ ' Schuyler had also got home. He was always 
affable and gentlemanly. To-day he had had both 
wine and flattery with Father Murphy ; had been at 
the cathedral to see his daughter consecrated, and 
told his wife it was a charming sight, very touching 
and suggestive, and she should have been there to 
witness it. 

“ You cannot expect religion in Protestant girls, 
Maria,” said the judge, putting on the slippers Henry 
had brought him and unfolding his Sunday paper ; 
“ they have nothing to provoke it. Protestantism is 
dull and dry — utterly barren of all that would move 
the youthful heart or stir the imagination.” 

Mrs. Schuyler was silent ; she had been a Protest- 
ant girl, and perchance had merited this present accu- 
sation. 

“ Of course, Maria,” continued the judge, search- 
ing for the report of Saturday afternoon’s interesting 

24 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


35 


case, “ you will admit the testimony of facts. ( By 
their fruits ye shall know them ;’ isn’t that the doc- 
trine? Well, where do you find such fruits as in the 
Romish Church? Just look at whole communities 
of men and women wholly devoted to doing good. 
In what other denomination are children so well 
cared for and instructed ? What other Church is so 
zealous for proselytes ? I’m convinced, Maria, that 
there is but one true Church, and that is — Ah here 
is Davis’ speech ; just listen to it, Maria ; it was as 
complete a thing as I’ve heard for a year.” 

Mrs. Schuyler had meditated asking Lilly to read 
a chapter of the Bible to her, but she could not sug- 
gest that Davis’ speech was not the best possible 
Sabbath reading, or that herself and Lilly might be 
better employed than in listening to it. 

Meanwhile, just across the street, Grace and Ade- 
laide had the parlor to themselves; Adelaide lying 
on a sofa, reposing after the fatigues of attending 
vespers, and Grace looking into the street. 

“ Gracie, what in the world are you looking out of 
the window so long for ?” demanded Adelaide ; “ has 
anybody passed along this stupid street for half an 
hour?” 

“ I don’t know — I’m thinking,” replied Grace. 

“I believe you spend half your time thinking. 
What’s on your mind now ?” 


36 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ I was thinking of a little book Annie Mott has ; 
it is called, * Why am I a Presbyterian ?’ ” 

Adelaide burst into a fit of laughter: “If that 
isn’t too absurd. Who cares why any one is a Pres- 
byterian ? They are a dull, stiff set, very much like 
the Methodists and Baptists and all other heretics. 
I shouldn’t think any one could write a primer 
about that” 

“ But this was not a primer : it was a good-sized 
book, nicely bound. Annie’s uncle gave it to her 
for learning the Catechism.” 

“ The reward was as stupid as the task,” said Ade- 
laide. “ He should have given her a hundred dollars. 
I’ve seen Annie’s Catechism. Oh, it is fearful /— 
worse than ours. But, Graeie, you must be badly off 
for something to think of, if you spend your ideas on 
Annie’s silly book.” 

“ Oh, it had set me thinking why am I a Catholic? " 

Adelaide laughed louder and longer than before. 

Why is anybody a Catholic ?” she cried. 

“Yes,” returned Grace, seriously, “why is any- 
body anything?” 

“ I should think your poor head would ache trying 
to unravel such nonsense, Grace!” exclaimed the 
lively Adelaide. “Let me enlighten your ignorance 
at once. Here : i Why was your mother a Catholic ? 
Lay it to Aunt Hobart/ ‘Why is my mother a 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


37 


Catholic? Ditto/ ‘ Why is father a Catholic. He's 
a politician, and wanted votes/ ‘Why is Uncle 
Schuyler a Catholic? Because he was too busy to 
do his own religion, and Father Murphy was quite 
willing to do it for him/ ‘ Why is Lilly a Catholic ? 
Referred to Aunt Robart again/ ‘ Why are you and 
I Catholics? Because our mothers are/ ‘Why is 
everybody a Catholic ? Because they are not here- 
tics/ ‘Why is anybody a heretic? Because they 
are not Catholics/ There, my dear Gracie, I have 
cleared all that matter up. Dear me ! you seem quite 
astonished.” 

Grace was indeed astonished at Adelaide’s sum- 
mary way of disposing of her rapidly-put queries. 

“Why, Adelaide,” she said in a puzzled way, 
“your talk sounds more like brother Richard than 
just you. I’m afraid you’ll get to be one of those 
people who don’t believe in anything.” 

“ Believe, believe ! yes I do. I believe everything 
that’s told me, even when I know it isn’t true. 
Father Murphy told me at confession only yesterday 
that young girls had no right to reason or think for 
themselves, but just trust to the Church, and, of 
course, I’m not going to bother myself thinking after 
that.” 

“ I shall,” said Grace, independently. “ If yon 
can’t think, you might just as well be a wax doll.” 

4 


38 


PRIEST A XI) NUX. 


“By no means,” replied Adelaide; “for then yon 
couldn’t have the pleasure of dressing or eating, and 
there’s a deal of pleasure in those things, Grace, and 
— there’s the supper-bell.” 

Ah this family were to be seen at supper — Mr. 
Kemp, Mrs. Kemp, Richard, a youth of twenty-two, 
half-brother to Grace, and these two girls. The 
young man occupied one side of the table. Grace 
and Adelaide were opposite him. 

“ What ! ready to eat again ?” cried Richard, lift- 
ing both hands at his opposites. “ Consecration does 
not seem to have etherealized you particularly.” 

u Nobody expected it to,” said Adelaide, but Grace 
was silent, for she felt that the rite ought to be worth 
something. 

i( Then nobody was disappointed,” pursued Rich- 
trd. “ I had the pleasure of coming home just be- 
hind your troop of white-robed neophytes. Your 
Sisters were inteift on your appearance before hereti- 
cal eyes. My Adelaide was absorbed wholly in the 
vanities of her own array. Grace, with puzzled face, 
was engaged in solving some mighty Why? The 
Shannon girls were bickering, as they always are. 
Mary Ralph looked black as a thunder-cloud because 
her dress was spotted, and poor little Lilly was evi- 
dently the modern Iphigenia.” 

“Why, Rick, were you near us? I didn’t know 


PRIEST AND N LUX. 


39 


it.” said Adelaide, regarding with eyes of sincere 
affection a quivering amber mould of jelly on its 
crystal dish. 

“I saw Father Murphy leaving the cathedral, and 
I had a mind to tell him to take Shannon, Ralph 
and company back and consecrate them over 1 again/ ” 
rattled on Richard. 

Mrs. Kemp half smiled. It was her policy never 
to frown at word or deed of her step-children ; but 
Mr. Kemp suggested to Richard the propriety of 
guarding his tongue a little better. 

“ There’s no need of that, sir, until I run for Con- 
gress,” replied the irrepressible young man. 

One might suppose that Mr. Kemp would have 
been mortally offended at this palpable hit, but, on 
the contrary, he smiled. He regarded his politico- 
religious manoeuvres as worthy a Machiavelli, and 
Machiavelli was his demigod. 

We have stumbled upon the very middle of a long 
(and strong) chain of circumstances. The beginning 
of this chain lies as far away as when the present 
Mrs. Kemp was a little girl. A pair of very foolish 
parents had three daughters. The parents were nom- 
inal members of a Protestant communion. Though it 
is a communion which has good schools of its own, 
these very foolish parents — we call them this par ea> 
ce lienee, feeling quite sure that besides them there 


40 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


were never any others — sent their daughters to a con- 
vent to school. They had heard it was a most excel- 
lent, thorough, well-disciplined school, so they sent 
the three girls there until school-days were ended. 
The three girls came home and were shortly aftet 
married. The eldest daughter married Mr. Robart, 
the second Mr. Grant, and the third Mr. Kemp, a 
widower. The first two ladies were left widows — the 
third died, leaving Grace, her daughter. After a 
year or two of mourning, Mrs. Grant married Mr. 
Kemp, and became step-mother of her niece Grace, 
and of Richard, the child of Mr. Kemp’s first marriage. 
Mrs. Robart, being rich and childless, went over to 
the faith wherein she had been educated at school, 
and entered a holy order, her fortune and decided 
abilities making her very welcome. Sister Margaret 
Robart’s first step was to confirm the Romish inclin- 
ings Mrs. Kemp had gained, at the convent. Hei 
uext was to convert Mr. Kemp, to do which, as 
spiritual motives would not avail, she used political. 
Of course the children were swept along in this 
strong current setting toward Rome, and not the chil- 
dren only : — Margaret Robart had read the character 
of Mr. Kemp’s brother-in-law, Judge Schuyler, and 
he too was carried into the true Church. 

Sister Margaret lived in the odor of sanctity, and 
-vew in favor daily, She was chosen Superior of her 


PRIEST AND NUN 


41 


order, the Mother of the Convent of the Immaculate 
Heart of Mary. Her other honors lay shining before 
her. Thus, you see, from the educational theories of 
those parents, now asleep in their graves, Rome was 
edified by a Mother of the Convent of the Immaculate 
Heart, etc., by two mothers of families — for Grace’s 
mother had died in the one infallible Church — by a 
politician well before the public eye, and by a judge 
upon the bench in the honorable court of a very 
honorable city. Besides all this, from these parents' 
school choice came young Richard, sneering at nearly 
everything, and Mrs. Schuyler breaking her heart, 
and, Lilly ! — well, we shall see what of Lilly. 

These many conversions were in days before “ Rit- 
ualism was predisposing the Protestant world to re- 
gard with merited consideration the exalted and ven- 
erable rites of the holy Catholic faith." * 

We have heard Adelaide wondering “ what there 
would be next to do." This craving for excite- 
ment is well understood and constantly met in the 
Romish Church; the youthful mind is kept in a 
continual whirl. Instead of the calm gravity, dig- 
nity and clear reasoning of Protestantism, such 
youths as Adelaide see in religion a rush of holy 
days, white dresses, emblems, processions and the 
like. The next “ excitement" for our girls was not 
* Catholic Standard. 


4* 


42 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


supposed to be primarily of a religious sort — it was 
the grand yearly exhibition of the Conventual School 
of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. 

“ Exhibition, exhibition !” was now the cry of the 
girls from morning until night. 

“ Indeed, Miss Adelaide,” remonstrated Lucy, “ I 
do not believe you have said your prayers for a 
week.” 

“ Oh yes, I have, Lucy. I rattle them off when- 
ever I think of them ; but you’ve no idea how much 
time it takes to prepare for exhibition. I’m learning 
a dozen of things for that, and of course I have no 
time to go over ever so many prayers.” 

“ But what will Father Murphy say when he hears 
that at confession ?” 

“Oh, I’ll get them all said before that. Yester- 
day, while we were waiting for the dessert, I said the 
Oonfitcor and ‘ Blessed be the Hours,’ and to-day I 
shall do the Act of Contrition and those other ones. 
I’ll get them done, never fear.” 

With Grace it was different; she was ambitious, 
and intensely anxious to make a good display of her- 
self at the examination and exhibition. She would 
for a day or two be as negligent of devotional exer- 
cises as Adelaide ; then, seized with one of her often- 
recurring fits of spiritual uneasiness, she would be 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


43 


constant in her worship before her shrine in the bed* 
room. 

Grace and Adelaide loved each other sincerely, but 
there was a sort of rivalry between them that made 
each jealous and watchful lest the other should do 
or have something better than herself. This pecu- 
liarity had been fostered by Mrs. Kemp’s nervous 
anxiety lest she should seem to discriminate between 
her daughter and step-daughter. Her chief ambition 
was to fill acceptably, and to the admiration of all 
the family friends, the difficult position of third wife, 
and when any dispute arose between the girls, she 
besought, with perfect impartiality, first one and then 
the other to yield. Generally Grace yielded, but 
managed to have the best of the bargain still. 

At this exhibition, Grace, as the pupil having the 
most self-possession and elegance of manner, was to 
open the evening on the part of the pupils with a 
salutatory address in French. 

This threw Adelaide into high excitement. Grace 
speak a piece and she have none! She would never 
go near the school again ! she should keep her room ; 
she would speak to nobody if she could not speak in 
public as well as Grace ! 

Mrs. Kemp, finding it impossible to placate tbe 
offended power, consulted with Sister Cecelia and 
with Sister Saint Sophia, the principal teacher, and it 


44 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


was arranged that Adelaide should recite a poem, 
called “ Our Blessed Lady.” 

Grace was to write her salutation, and expended 
much time upon it. When she sent it in for cor- 
rection it was quietly rewritten by Sister Lorette, a 
nun from Paris. 

“ Why,” cried Grace, “ there’s hardly a word of 
mine left !” 

“ Yours was very good for your age, but, of course, 
a Parisienne like Sister Lorette can do it much better. 
We shall have a large audience, and we want the 
French exercises of the very best. Sister Lorette 
can compose it, I will copy it and you can speak it, 
which you will do better than any one. Very likely 
the audience will want the paper handed around/' 
said Sister Cecelia. 

“But on the scheme for the evening it is put 
* French salutation, composed and spoken by Grace 
Kemp !’ ” 

“ It is virtually yours ; the ideas are all as you had 
them.” 

“But the French is not mine !” cried Grace, “and 
it is a real humbug. I won’t have my name put to 
it, if it is not mine.” 

“ If Mother Hobart thinks best you will.” 

“No, I shall not; it is telling lies!” cried Grace, 
angrily. 


DRIEST AND NUN. 


45 


This language was reported to Father Murphy, Di- 
rector and Confessor of the Convent, and Grace was 
called to account. 

“They wanted me to help deceive,” said Grace, 
scornfully. Grace from earliest childhood had been 
a worshiper of truth. It was a love predicating 
her’ outgrowing Rome, and Father. Murphy regarded 
to with suspicion. 

" Such things are not called falsehoods . They are 
expedient, and a child of your age should obey and 
not question. This which Saint Cecelia proposes is 
not a lie, and you insult her by calling it so,” said 
the priest. 

“ It is not truth” said Grace, boldly. 

The matter was settled by having Grace write the 
composition and Saint Lorette correct it, while Grace 
was to ask pardon of Saint Cecelia and do penance 
by fasting on bread and water, and spending two 
hours of play-time in the chapel at her prayers. Said 
Father Murphy to his pupil: “You, Grace, knoiv the 
most religion, but Adelaide acts the most. She obeys 
unquestioningly . She does not set up her own opinion. 
In religion obedience , and not wisdom, is the thing 
acceptable.” 

“ Grace,” said Adelaide one evening when the girls 
were alone in the parlor, “ I’ve been fairly frightened 
to death by that algebra examination, but I see now 


46 


PRIEST AND NUN 


how it is to be done. Do you notice that for three 
mornings in our ‘ general review’ we have had the 
same examples ? Sister means to have us perfect in 
them, and then give them to us on examination.” 

Grace wondered if that were “ deception/’ but did 
not say so, for she had just been doing penance for 
too free an expression of opinion. 

Richard was sitting on the balcony, and here put 
his head into the window : “ Adelaide, how far along 
are you in algebra ?” 

“ Oh, most through. You needn’t ask me any 
questions though, Rick.” 

“ How do you like equations ?” 

“ Equations ; what are they ?” 

“ Algebraic equations, child; how do you like 
them?” 

“ Oh, I haven’t got to them yet.” 

“ Why, yes we have,” cried Grace, impatiently — 
“ ever so long ago, Adelaide. The example you had 
on the board to-day was an equation.” 

'‘Well,” said Adelaide, triumphantly, “I don’t 
know a thing about them. I didn’t know that until 
Sister worked it out for me.” 

“Adelaide Grant! and Sister Saint Sophia has 
marked you nine on the rolls, and that is nearly per- 
fect,” cried Grace. 

“ Well, what of that? They mark all the scholars 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


47 


eight or nine, so their friends will like the school and 
send them back. They wouldn’t put down poor 
marks. Who do you suppose ^s to get the French 
prize ?” 

“ Who ?” cried Grace, eagerly. 

“ Nannie Graves ! She is about the poorest one 
there is. She can’t talk ten words right, and she 
always blunders in reading, and her exercise is 
worse than mine ; but her father is a rich Protestant, 
and he is very particular about her learning French, 
so she gets the prize to make him send her back.” 

“It’s too bad,” cried Grace, bitterly; “all the 
prizes go to Protestai*t girls !” 

“ Yes, that is to make tlmm come back and bring 
more ; they know we’ll come, anyway,” said Adelaide. 

A few days before this exhibition the two girls 
came home in great glee. They rushed into the 
parlor, where their mother sat dressed for the even- 
ing, and Richard was resting after his day of office- 
v ork. 

“ We’ve been to a wedding !” cried the girls. 

“Horrors!” exclaimed their mother; “not in cam- 
bric dresses ?” 

•“Oh, it was in the convent chapel; Mother 
Robart had us all in,” said Grace. 

“ I do like weddings !” cried Adelaide. “ Rick, 
get married, please, so we can have a grand wedding 


48 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


to go to, and father will get us white silks; do, 
Rick" 

“ Nonsense !” ventured Mrs. Kemp. “ Lilly will 
not be old enough this five years.” A match be- 
tween Lilly and Richard was her darling hope. 

“ Lilly !” repeated Richard, scornfully. 

“ Why not?” laughed Mrs. Kemp. “She is a 
little girl now, but by the time you are ready to 
settle down, she will be one of the most beautiful 
and accomplished young ladies in the city.” 

“ She’s a regular little Papist !” said Richard, hotly. 

“ Girls,” said Mrs. Kemp, quickly, “ go and dress. 
Lucy is waiting for you. Put on your check silks 
and blue sashes.” The girls ran off, and Mrs. Kemp, 
looking full at her step-son, said, “ So am I a Papist, 
Richard.” 

“ I beg ten million pardons, you jewel of a njother !” 
said Richard. 

“And it should be in your eyes an advantage,” 
said Mrs. Kemp, loftily. 

“Doubtless, it does admirably for father, as he 
says he is one himself, but for myself, being none, I 
do not want my wife to be.” 

“But why not?” persisted Mrs. Kemp. 

“ I should offend you,” said Richard. 

“ I proclaim an amnesty beforehand ; let me hear 
your objections.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


41) 


“ Well, then, I don’t want a wife who is under the 
control of a priest — who makes known to her con- 
fessor my private affairs, applies to him for direction 
rather than to me, and lays open to him my deepest con- 
fidences. I do not want a wife belonging to a Church 
which tells her, ‘ A wife may gamble, and take for 
that purpose the money of her husband.’ * I think 
Rome comes between the most sacred relationships. 
See, for instance, Lilly. Until maturity, at least, a 
mother is supposed to be a child’s nearest friend. In 
a mother the child should confide. The mother’s 
wishes should be its guidance. A good mother is, 
next to God, a child’s nearest and wisest friend. But 
Lilly is made to deceive and cast off her mother. 
She is forced to withdraw from her, to treat her 
coldly, to disobey her, to break her heart. Never 
was there a better and gentler woman than Aunt 
Schuyler; and it makes me indignant to see her 
trampled on and wounded in her tenderest love. 
Don’t talk to me of Lilly. I think of some bit of 
Scripture I’ve read: ‘If they do these things in a 
gi een tree, what shall be done in a dry ?’ If Lilly 
at fourteen is priest-led enough to forsake her mother, 
there would be no hope of her husband’s being more 
than a secondary consideration to her when she comes 
to marry.” 

* Chap, du Larcin, tr. 1, No. 13. Quoted by Sauvestre. 

I) 


5 


50 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ But, son Richard, you forget that the priest is 
not to be looked on as mere man. In the confes- 
sional he is in the place of God, and to be so consid- 
ered/’ 

“ When I marry,” said Richard, “ I shall choose a 
woman who will go to God, if she wants to go at all, 
without any flesh-and-blood medium. You know,” 
he added, “you promised me an amnesty, and you 
must not be offended at anything I have said. I 
don’t even hint at you. I think, as I before re- 
marked, that you are a jewel, and permit me to 
escort you down to dinner.” 

The bell was ringing. He offered Mrs. Kemp his 
arm, and they went together to the dining-room. 
Grace and Adelaide rushed in after them with unbe- 
coming haste, but it was not dinner they were eager 
for: “Mother, mother! you needn’t think we will- 
wear our blue silks nor white tarletan. Lilly is 
going to have a lovely new silk and a white lace 
overdress, and we mean to have new pink silks. 
You must get them early in the morning, so we can 
have them made. We won’t go without them.” 

“ Oh, girls, girls ! some other time I’ll think 
about it.” 

“ No — promise now,” cried the two. 

“ Bless me ! let us have dinner in peace,” said Mr. 
Kemp. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


51 


“ Make one more charge, girls, and you are vic- 
torious ! 

1 Charge, Chester, char 0 € ! 

On, Stanley, on !’ ” 

cried Richard. 

“ Mother, the dresses! pink silk! white trim- 
mings !” shouted the girls, laughing extravagantly. 

“ Give them the dresses. I wonder if all girls of 
their age are so wild and untrained?” said Mr. 
Kemp. 

“We can beh&ve splendid now, we have what we 
want. We were only trying to get the dresses,” said 
Grace, coolly. 

After tea the conversation very naturally turned 
upon the marriage the girls had that afternoon wit- 
nessed. 

“ Who were the parties ?” asked Mrs. Kemp. 

“ The lady had been educated at the Immaculate 
Heart of Mary,” said Grace. “ She was one of the 
first pupils. Her parents are Protestants : the gentle- 
tleman is a Spaniard from Porto Rico. The lady’s 
parents would not let her marry him because he was 
a Catholic. They left her home yesterday, and are to 
sail for Porto Rico next week.” ? 

“ They are rich,” said Adelaide. “ The lady gave 
Father Murphy an alb trimmed with elegant lace ; 
and the bridegroom presented the statue of the Vir- 
gin with a gold chain, a perfect beauty.” 


52 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ It was a stolen marriage, then — a runaway bride, 
in fact?” remarked Richard. 

“ I suppose the lady was of age, and certainly her 
parents were very bigoted to refuse consent because 
the gentleman was a Roman Catholic,” said Mrs. 
Kemp. 

“She has property in her own right. She con- 
fessed to Father Murphy this morning. Father 
Douay was there and several others, and the bride 
and groom knelt at the altar and received the sacra- 
ment,” explained Grace. 

. “ What a good thing it was that she had been to 
the convent, so that when her parents were so cruel 
to her, and would not let her marry whom she liked, 
she had a place to come and be married!” said 
Adelaide. 

“What a pity,” observed Richard, “that her 
parents had not considered, before they sent her to 
the convent, whether they were willing to relinquish 
all claim upon her obedience !” 

The evening of the exhibition came. A choir of 
girls dressed in white opened the entertainment by 
singing, “ Mother of Angels, hail !” 

Grace’s salutatory was much applauded. 

Adelaide was highly satisfied with her recitation 
of “ Our Blessed Lady.” There was a composition 
written by Sister Saint Sophia on “ The Order of the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


53 


Little Sisters of the Poor,” but avowedly the pro- 
duction of the pupil who read it. 

The music of -the evening was good. 

Copy-books were handed about, and Sister Cecelia’s 
writing highly lauded. The drawings of the pupils, 
carefully retouched by Sister Anna, made a fair dis- 
play. Lilly was very lovely in two tableaux called 
the “ Young Devotee” and the “ White Veil.” Her 
mother, with tearful eyes and heavy heart, beheld the 
girl enrapt in her acting of these scenes. 

An important part of the ceremonies of the even- 
ing was a presentation from the pupils to the convent 
chapel of a velvet altar-cloth, embroidered with gold, 
which was duly accepted and “ blessed” by Father 
Murphy. 

A poem in honor of St. Joseph the Just was re- 
cited, and there was a conversation on confirmation 
between five girls, in which the fifth girl is convinced 
and converted from atheistic errors, said errors being 
in very truth not at all atheism, but pure Protestant- 
ism. It would never do, you know, openly to attack 
Protestantism, but every right-minded person will 
consent to a refutation of atheism . 

Thus the affair passed over, and there was a va- 
cation of two weeks, during which the Abbess gave 
ill her dear pupils a strawberry fete in the convent- 

garden. 

6 * 


54 


PRIEST AN1) NUN. 


u Rick,” said Grace, “ our examination and exhi- 
bition was a real farce. It was just surface. Some- 
times, Rick, I wish so much for teachers who could 
go deep into things and satisfy me, and tell me the 
why. Most of the girls like the way we are taught, 
because they have no trouble thinking or studying , 
but that is not what I want. Saint Cecelia would 
6ay it was arrogance or infidelity in me, I suppose, 
I don’t dare to say it to any one but you.” 


CHAPTER III. 

BEAUTIFUL INSTITUTION FOR THE CHILDREN. 

f ATHER MURPHY was walking down Great 
street. Truly to-day he was a goodly sight to 
see ; florid and stout, and well dressed, his gown 
reaching nearly to his feet, his hat bedecked with a 
heavy silk tassel, his eyes cast down, his gloved 
hands clasped behind him. He was to-day — as, in- 
deed, almost every day — looking after his flock. 
Father Murphy was not a priest given to books or 
acts of religion. He had taken in book-learning 
enough at the College of Holy Joseph before he was 
in orders. He could inculcate the importance of 
“ acts of religion,” and of course he was supposed 
to do the proper amount of fasting and praying. I 
know well that he watched and preyed continually — 
in fact, there are many kinds of modern Lcvites, 
and Father Murphy was a Levite in whom there was 
much guile . 

“ The Church,” said Father Murphy to the Rover 
end Father Douay, “is a temporal and a spiritual 
kingdom • therefore her servants must look after both 

55 


56 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


temporal and spiritual interests. V ery few men have 
a call to look after both these branches of interest. 
My vocation is to wait upon the temporal wants of 
the Church, which I think the more important of 
the two. Money is the life-blood of the Church.” 
Agreeably to this indication of his principles, Father 
Murphy peregrinated the city each day, looking after 
his flock. When I tell you his eyes were cast down, 
I do not mean to suggest that he saw only the ground ; 
on the contrary, he saw everything and everybody 
that passed. I have studied the private orders of 
the Holy Brotherhood of Jesuits, and never have 
found any rule that forbids them to look a person in 
the eye fully and frankly; yet such a law must be 
implied somewhere, as it is constantly followed. 
Thus walking and looking down, Father Mtirphy 
saw on the other side of the street, one block distant, 
Michael Shinn coming up. His reverence managed 
to meet him. Michael, several rods off, saw the 
inevitable result and trembled. Michael Shinn was 
the owner of a livery stable, and long was the train 
of carriages that flowed from that stable to the ca- 
thedral, and thence to the cemetery, on occasions of 
burial for the faithful. Father Murphy might be 
Herod, and Michael Shinn Tyre and Sidon, “ who de- 
sired peace with him because their country was nour- 
ished by the king’s country.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


57 


About two feet from Michael, Father Murphy all 
at once recognized him. Until that moment he had 
not seemed to notice him ; and the burly owner of 
hacks and horses was beginning to breathe freer, in a 
vain hope of being served as the priest in the parable 
served the wounded man on the road to Jericho. 

Father Murphy had the deep mellow tones of a 
man who always eats good dinners and is never con- 
tradicted. He stopped shorthand said, “ Good-day, 
Michael !” 

“ Good-day, your riv’rence,” said Mr. Shinn. 

“ You were not at Church last Sunday?” 

“ I was not, your riv’rence,” said Michael, meekly. 

“ Nor at mass the first of the month ; and you have 
not taken communion fu* two months.” 

“ Your riv’rence is right,” said Michael, sighing. 

u I have not seen you at confession ; and you are 
behind in your Church dues,” said Father Murphy, 
continuing the list of his sheep’s shortcomings. 

“ That is true, your honor,” said Michael, with 
great self-abnegation. 

Father Murphy struck off on a new theme, still in 
the same mellow tones : “ You let carriages, Michael, 
and get orders for all the cathedral funerals ?” 

“ Yes, your riv’rence.” 

“ And that is your best source of profit ?” 

“ That I’ll not be denying, sir.” 


58 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ I shall keep it in mind. Don’t let me miss you 
again; and the matter of dues?” 

“ It will be me duty and pleasure to make it right 
to the Church, taking sorrow to meself for me ne- 
glect/' explained Michael, quickly. 

“ I shall keep an eye on you, Michael. The riches 
and vanities of this world are leading you from your 
duty to the Church and, so saying, Father Murphy 
passed on. The connection between Michael Shinn’s 
delinquencies and the letting carriages to funerals 
may not be patent to persons of slow powers of ob- 
servation, but it was very plain to Michael. 

On went Father Murphy, and turned up a stair- 
way leading to Judge Schuyler’s office. The clerks 
were all very busy in the outer room — mounted on 
high stools and bending over their desks. The 
scratch of pens, the rustling of paper and the un- 
timely fall of a pencil were the only sounds that 
stirred the air. The stove was fireless, the day being 
warm, and the open hearth was resigned to ashes, 
apple cores and cigar stumps. The office-boy ush- 
ered Father Murphy into the judge’s private room, 
an inner sanctum where the great man was supposed 
to be very busy. Having provided employment for 
all his clerks, he had opened a ponderous tome, lighted 
a cigar, and was meditating upon a very u nice 
point.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


59 


Father Murphy’s visit was not unprecedented, and 
the boy knew perfectly well that the priest was free 
to the private room. When he entered that recepta- 
cle of sofas, easy-chairs and library, the judge greeted 
him right cordially, and closing the huge volume of 
legal lore, turned cheerfully to his conscience keeper. 
The reins wherewith Rome guided this proselyte 
were silken, and he hardly felt them. Judge Schuy- 
ler gave his priestly adviser a chair and a cigar. 

They discussed the weather 

The weather was found to be agreeable and 
healthful. 

The judge unlocked his secretaire and produced 
wine-glasses and a dusty bottle ; the bottle, held to the 
jght, looked ruddy as a carbuncle. Father Murphy 
and the judge probably admired carbuncles, for they 
regarded the bottle approbatively. The judge called 
himself a very temperate man. He had never been 
intoxicated in his life. He despised porter and hated 
brandy, but he said wine was a fit drink for a gentle- 
man — good for the health and useful to the brain. 
He placed a glass of wine at the priest’s elbow. The 
visitor nodded : “ I feel free to drink what is con- 
venient of wine,” said Father Murphy, “as the 
Scripture tells us it was given to make glad the 
heart of man — it is also recommended for his 
stomach.” 


60 


PRIEST AND NUN 


Father Murphy made it a point to quote Scripture 
to the judge. He did not say that he felt free to use 
olive oil because it is given to make a man’s face to 
shine. It was Father Murphy’s pclicy to instruct 
this new son of the Church at all times, and he con- 
tinued: “ Protestants, as you will observe, are ct 
those who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel. 
Wine, dancing, a hand at whist are gnats they choke 
over, while they make no difficulty of the sacrilege 
of giving the Eucharistic wine to the people, despising 
the Holy Virgin and the blessed saints, and dying 
unconfessed and without extreme unction.” 

The judge bowed assent, as he always did. 

"Now,” said Father Murphy, benevolently, "I 
regard Protestants as lost sheep of the house of Israe*. 
I feel compelled to bring them back to that fold 
from which they went out. In so doing I shall, as 
the Apostle James says, save a soul from deatli and 
cover a multitude of sins. I welcome all such re- 
turning sheep with open arms;” and Father Murphy 
took a sip of wine, and mildly regarded the judge 
who was one of these same returned sheep. 

“Of all things,” said Father Murphy, “one of 
the most surprising is the way the Protestants regard 
our convents and sisterhoods. On these particular 
institutions of our Church they fall with full fury. 
They abuse and deride them in a way that is perfectly 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


61 


amazing, especially when we see what a benefit these 
very institutions are to Protestants — what an un- 
rivaled opportunity for educating their daughters. 
Why, sir, just see how this works,” cried Father 
Murphy, taking another sip of wine and joining the 
tips of his forefingers, as if thereby to point a moral 
to his theme : “ Here’s a poor orphan child. Shall it 
be thrown upon the community as* a beggar? JSTo^ 
the convent is open to it, and it is fo* ever taken 
care of. Here’s a young woman, friendless and 
homeless; she goes to the convent; she joins a sis- 
terhood and is devoted to good works, is a benefit to 
society. Here’s a refractory girl ; her parents can do 
nothing with her ; send her to a convent ; of course 
a Mother Superior, who has trained hundreds of 
girls, and lias given her life to nothing else, is far 
more capable of training this girl than her own 
mother would have been. Everything in the convent 
gently coerces the pupil to right. The parents can 
be easy about their girl. From the hour they give 
her to the convent she is perfectly safe.” 

The judge nodded again. He had a girl of his 
own, but he knew far more about hunting up pre- 
cedents than about bringing up girls. He could give 
a decision in court with much more force and clear- 
ness than he could upon any of the educational sys- 
tems of the day. 


62 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ Here again,” continued Father Murphy, charm- 
ingly ignoring the fact that he was very plainly put- 
ting the judge’s own case. “ Here is a family of 
wealth and position. They have, we’ll say, an only 
girl— sensitive, lovely, retiring. They need net feel 
that their death will throw her upon a cold and schem- 
ing world — that her life may be lonely and untended. 
The convent opens its arms to her orphan state. The 
Church is an immortal mother : for the child of the 
Church is provided a safe home, tender mother and 
sisters, occupation, refined society, good works. Her 
hours of illness find no hired nurses, but tender sis- 
ters. She has no business cares ; no commercial 
crisis can throw her out of home and support. Ah, r 
added the good Father, with unction, “it is a beauti- 
ful institution — a beautiful institution, worthy of the 
only True Church.” 

The matter thus fairly set before Judge Schuyler 
he quite agreed with his priest. In the light that 
morning thrown upon it the convent did look a very 
beautiful institution indeed. All that his faint- 
hearted wife could say in a year on the contrary side 
would be but as small dust in the balance against the 
view he had gained from the reverend Father. In 
fact, that very evening Mrs. Schuyler ventured to 
say, “ I wish you would send Lilly to a different 
school. She is hardly at home with me at all. The 


PRIEST AND NUN 


63 


Sisters contrive to keep her every clay until tea- 
time.” 

“ Why, what do they find?” asked the judge. 

“ Oh, new music or fancy-work or a sick person oi 
an orphan -house to visit.” 

“ Of course, you wish her to be accomplished and 
charitable?” said the judge. 

“Yes, but these are things she could learn with 
tier mother,” said poor Mrs. Schuyler. 

“Mothers must not be selfish,” said her husband. 

“ Fm sure Lilly could not be in a better school.” 

* 

“ But,” said Mrs. Schuyler, desperately, “ suppose 
it all ends in Lilly’s taking the veil ?” 

“ Worse things might happen,” said the judge, 
coolly. “ She would then have a safe and quiet life 
before her, and be out of the reach of sharpers and 
fortune-hunters.” 

Mrs. Schuyler groaned, “ Entirely in their hands, 
I should think — but she groaned it to herself. 

It was about six o’clock now — almost dinner-time 
— and Lilly came in from school. 

“ How late you are, Lilly !” said her mother, as the 
girl, newly curled and furnished with fresh frills and 
kerchief by the faithful Hannah, came into the 
parlor. 

“ I went to the cathedral, mother, to see some dear 
•ittle babies baptized. Poor little wee things, mother 


64 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


they looked so funny compared to Father Murphy, 
One was four days old, and the other a week.” 

“ Poor little creatures ! What a dreadful thing 
to take them out at that age !” cried Mrs. Schuyler. 

“ Oh but, mother, it was to be baptized . Suppose 
they should die very soon — ” 

“ They are much more likely to after such an ab- 
surd exposure,” interrupted Mrs. Schuyler. 

“ Yes, but now they will be saved. If they had 
died unbaptized, their poor little souls would wander 
shivering around — well, around somewhere — for ever. 
Sister Saint Cecelia told me so.” 

“ And do you believe that ?” asked Mrs. Schuyler. 

“Of course; Saint Cecelia always speaks the 
truth.” 

“Well, Lilly, you have two dear little brothers 
who died unbaptized.” 

“ Oh, mother !” cried Lilly, horrified. “ How 
could you let them ?” 

“ They died suddenly when quite small infants 
If they had lived, very likely they would have been 
baptized. But I do not suppose that the souls of 
those deai babes are shivering about somewhere . 1 

believe they are in heaven with Jesus, who said, 
•Suffer little children/” 

Judge Schuyler was making impatient movement*. 
His two lost boys were sore subjects to him. 


PRIEST AND NUJS. 


65 


“ But, mother, Saint Cecelia says unbaptized babes 
cannot get into heaven ; they cannot be saved, 1 ” said 
Lilly, weeping at the dreadful thought of her 
brothers. 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Schuyler, “ that it is the blood 
of Jesus and the renewing of the Holy Ghost, and 
not baptismal waters, that take children into heaven. 
Go, Lilly, ask your father if Saint Cecelia is right, 
and our t^vo dear boys are lost because they were not 
baptized.” 

This was a very artful thing of Mrs. Schuyler, 
quite unprecedented. The judge winced, as Lilly, 
who considered him the wisest of men, drew near 
his chair with appealing eyes. 

“ Pm surprised, Lilly, that Sister Cecelia should 
have told you anything of the kind. I am sure she 
would not had she understood the circumstances of 
the case. It was quite useless to say such a thing to 
you . You know, Lilly, that in our Church there is 
a great mass of ignorant people who are not easily 
reached and brought up to their duty. They would 
entirely neglect the needful rite of baptism if they 
were not forced to attend to it by being told that 
their infants were lost if dying unbaptized.” 

“But,” said Lilly, with wide, open, honest eyes, 
“ they either are lost or are not , and if they are not it 
is a lie to say they are !” 


E 


66 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“Lilly,” said the judge, uneasily, “you are too 
young to argue on this kind of questions. Very 
likely some infants are lost by want of baptism- 
children of very wicked parents, for instance ; but I 
am quite sure that my children unbaptized are quite 
&s safe as the youngsters you saw at the cathedral to- 
day,” said the judge, with dignity. 

The judge resumed his paper ; Lilly went over to 
look at her mother’s embroidery. “ You see, Lilly,” 
said her mother, “ that you are not to believe impli- 
citly all that your Church tells you.” 

“ But, mother, Saint Cecelia says that the Church 
cannot be wrong.” 

“ Then, you are not to believe all your father telh 
you ?” 

“Oh, mother, father knows everything!” cried 
Lilly, and stopped confounded. The poor child was 
in a “ sea of troubles.” 

“ Maria,” said the judge, shortly, “ don’t try to un- 
settle the child.” 

Is this a very happy family? It might have 
been had not Popery been introduced to disturb its 
peace. 

As Lilly was discussing baptism at home, Father 
Murphy was going to his own house from the cathe- 
dral. He had in his pocket the baptismal fees, 
though the feeble mother of the week-old infant 


PRIEST AND NUN 


67 


was doing her own work, being too poor to hire 
help, and the other babe had but two changes of 
raiment. 

The rich judge’s dinner-hour was the poor man’s 
supper-time, and Father Murphy met Ann Mora 
going home to tea. Ann was one of his lambs, and 
the reverend Father stopped her: “Ann, where are 
you going to school now ?” 

“To the free school,” faltered Ann, curtseying 
low. 

“And why have you left the parochial school?” 

“ Father says we are too poor, sir. It cost fifty 
cents the month for me, and twenty-five cents for 
Pat, and wages is low, your reverence ; and mother 
don’t get much washing in ; and it took all she could 
/ay by for dues, your reverence, and so they sent us 
to free school, please.” 

“Very well,” said Father Murphy, sternly, “I 
suppose your father is home now. I’ll go in with 
you.” How poor Ann’s heart fluttered ! But down 
the side street and up the narrow stairs panted the 
portly Father, and was led into the room where Mora, 
his wife and boy sat at supper. Father Murphy had 
better suppers by far on days of entire abstinence . 

“ Oh, your reverence !” quavered Mrs. Mora, “ will 
you take a chair, sir ?” and she rubbed the best one 
with her apron. 


68 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“I cannot sit down under this roof!” said Father 
Murphy, with indignation in eye and tone. “John 
Mora, you have periled the souls of your children by 
sending them to Protestant free schools.” 

“Oh, your reverence/' said John Mora, meekly, 
“ I could not stand under the price of the other.” 

“ Then let them bide at home until you can.” 

“ Times gets harder every year,” said John, a very 
shrewd-looking fellow, “ and I want the childer eddi- 
cated, as Fve always heard say this is a free country, 
and by eddication a fair chance of people rose above 
their first station. Fm looking up for my childer, 
sir.” 

“ Why not look up for yourself?” 

“ Fve no eddication, your honor’s reverence.” 

“Perhaps the day will come, John, when our 
Father, the Pope, can give land and place and fortune 
to the faithful without education. Too much educa- 
tion is apt to turn the heads of the masses.” 

Father Murphy had cast out a baited line, and 
watched to see if it was bitten. 

“Eh, your reverence?” said John Mora, looking 
up quickly. 

“I say, John, that our Father, his Holiness, is 
rightful head of all lands, and he may one day here 
distiibute to his faithful those rewards which they 
will use for the benefit of the Church.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


69 


“ Belike,” said John, his face flashing into interest, 
and pushing back from the table. 

“ You had best be faithful to your Church, John.” 

“ I will that, your reverence.” 

“Then take your children from those heretical 
schools. Don’t let them go there another day. It 
may do for Protestants to send their children out of 
their own schools, and say others won't change their 
faith. I tell you, John, if your children go to those 
heretical schools, they will suck in as much of these 
notions of liberty and free speech and Bible poison 
as will cut them loose from the Church and drift 
them into perdition. Protestants may count on them 
just as surely as we may count on nine-tenths of the 
Protestant children sent to our schools.” 

“ I’ll mind, your reverence,” said John Mora. 

“ To send Roman Catholic children to Protestant 
schools,” cried Father Murphy, “is an unnatural 
crime, as cruel as murder. Children so sent will be 
devils in perdition!”* and Father Murphy brought 
down his fist on Mrs. Mora’s frail tea-table to the 
table’s evident peril. 

“ My children shall come back to your parochial 
school, your reverence, to-morrow,” said John Mora. 

* “ The Catholics who send their children to Protestant schools 
have inevitably before them companionship with fiends.” — Catho* 
lie Universe , Philadelphia. 


70 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“See that they do,” said Father Murphy. 

Under this storm of priestly wrath, Mrs. Mora was 
cowering and crying. Ann and Pat had fled to oppo- 
site corners of the room, and shook as in an ague. 
John Mora was reduced to intense humility. Father 
Murphy regarded them in silence. His countenance 
cleared. He spread out his hands : “ Benedicite !” 

It was as the sun returning after a tempest. 

The family revived. 

Father Murphy departed. 

“John,” said Mrs. Mora, “Fll not get a new 
bonnet. Mine’s done for four years. It may d<? 
five.” 

“We’ll do without that corner cupboard,” said 
John. 

“ I’ll mend up Pat’s old trowsers again,” said Mrs. 
Mora. 

“ I want new trowsers,” whined Pat. 

“ Hold your tongue, and don’t be a heretic !” said 
his father. 

After tea, Mrs. Mora got a worn-out pair of plaid 
pantaloons, and taking Pat’s gray trowsers, she cut 
out the four patches of three colors that already orna- 
mented them, taking out a ^ood margin with each, 
and set in four plaid patches. Meantime, Pat sat 
and snuffled. 

“ They’ll hold out two months if you’re careful 


PRIEST AND NUN 


71 


and the patches are all alike,” said his mother, con- 
solingly. 

“ Great oaks from little acorns grow.” From these 
four plaid patches, and the ignominy of wearing 
them, added to the tyranny of being kept half an 
hour a day longer in school, we date Pat Mora’s 
lapse from Romanism. 

The next day Lilly at school revived the question 
of baptism with Saint Cecelia, and reported the con- 
versation at home. Saint Cecelia saw that she had 
made a false step : “ My dear child,” said the Sister, 
‘ of course you desire the salvation of those infants 
greatly.” 

“ Oh, indeed, I do !” cried Lilly. 

“We do not know the limits of heavenly good- 
ness,” said Saint Cecelia. “ We know that the 
Blessed Virgin is merciful, and she is your patron- 
ess, and that Saint Peter keeps the keys of heaven. 
Perhaps, if you are a very good Catholic, and do a 
great deal for the Church, you may purchase the sal- 
vation of your brothers. Who can tell ?” 

“Oh, do you think so, Saint Cecelia?” cried Lilly. 

“ And,” said Saint Cecelia, “ it is not right to let 
our good deeds be known. Kept secret, they are 
more acceptable to heaven, as perfume shut up in a 
box does not waste itself. You had better not men- 
tion the matter at home;” and so Saint Cecelia of the 


72 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ Beautiful Institution ” taught our Lilly to rendei 
honor and confidence to her parents. But Saint Cece- 
lia saw it was time to distract Lilly’s mind. “ I am 
going to visit the parochial school, and you may 
come with me,” she said. 

“ Let me go, too !” cried Adelaide, who stood near. 

“ And me !” cried Grace. 

“ Sister Grace,” said the nun, mildly, “your French 
composition is not ready. Sister Adelaide, your em- 
broidery must be picked out; your moss rose is 
crooked, and your violet is not shaded right.” 

Grace, fond of study, cheerfully attacked the French 
composition ; but Adelaide pouted, knocked down her 
embroidery-frame, and cried, “ Hateful stuff! You 
make a pet of Lilly. She is your favorite, you know 
she is !” 

“ Sister Adelaide,” said Saint Cecelia, quif e unruf- 
fled, “ we are going to have a procession and u festival 
to honor the Assumption of the Blessed Virg in. You 
may choose your own part, my dear child ;’ and, on 
hearing this, Adelaide’s spirit floated tranq* illy into 
sunshine. 

Lilly went to the parochial school. 

“Why is Ann Mora at the foot of he ' class?” 
asked the nun. 

“ She has been absent a month going tc * heretic 
school,” said the lay sister who was teaching 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


73 


Lilly saw a boy weeping in a corner. Ever sym- 
pathetic, she went to him : “ What is the matter* 
boy?” 

It was Pat Mora, who blubbered out: “The bojs 
call me con vie*, because my trowsers is two kinds ; 
and they take in school so early here I don’t get no 
time to play shinny.” 

“Don’t cry,” said Lilly, putting her little white 
hand on his rough, bowed head, “you don’t know 
how sorry I am for you.” 

That soft touch and tone made him Lilly’s devoted 
slave from thenceforth. 

“ Sister Cecelia,” said Lilly, as they Avalked home, 
“ I would like to buy that little boy some clothes ; 
his own hurt his feelings.” 

“I would not just now,” said Saint Cecelia, “for 
lie has been going to a heretic school, and needs pun- 
ishing. Besides,” she added, “we want our celebra- 
tion of the Assumption to be very fine and suitable 
lo the House of the Immaculate Heart, and it will 
take all the pupils’ pocket-money from now until the 
fifteenth of August to get it up.” 

Lilly finished the walk to the convent in a deep 
muse. What was she thinking of? She had heard 
Ann Mora reproved, and had privately gone tc W, 
asking, “ Why did you leave this nice school ?” 

“Had to,” said Ann. 

7 


74 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“Did you learn anything in the other? Of course 
you did not. How foolish of you to ^'o !” said Lilly, 
severely. “Come now, Ann, did you learn one tiling 
in the month you were gone from here?” 

“Yes,” said Ann, suddenly, “I did, miss. ] 
learnt it like as we was reading round one morning : 
‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from 
all sin.’ I remembered it, ’cause it didn’t say her Son.” 

“That was because you read in a heretic book,” 
said Lilly. 

“ It’s a mighty pretty verse anyhow, and I learned 
it to mother,” said Ann. 

Lilly walked back to the convent by Sister Cecelia, 
this verse ever in her mind, considering it in silence. 

The nun at last said, “ My child, what are you 
thinking of?” 

“ Saint Cecelia, is there any such verse as this ? — 
‘The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth m 
from all sin.’ ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know ” said the nun. 

“ Perhaps it is in the BiDie.” 

“ Then I should not be expected to know, for, 
thank holy Mary ! I never read a Bible. I should 
not think there could be such a verse in a good book, 
for I am sure the Church does net teach that we are 
cleansed from sin by blood , but by penance, absolu- 
tion and the like.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


75 


“ Saint Cecelia, is it very wicked to read the 
Bible?” 

“ Certainly, for the Church forbids it.” 

“ But, Sister, my mother often bids me read a 
chapter to her.” 

“It is better to disobey your mother than the 
Church,” said the nun, shortly. “However,” she 
added, “ since you are exposed to such temptations, 
you must avoid them when you can, and arm your- 
self against harm by frequent prayers.” 

“ What particular prayers ?” asked the docile child. 

“The Hail Mary, the Angelus Domini and the 
Confiteor.” 

“The Lord’s Prayer?” suggested Lilly. 

“Yes, to be sure, that is a good prayer too. I 
have heard some bishops say it was the best prayer, 
but for my pan, I put my trust in the Holy Virgin.” 

As they entered the convent gate the girls poured 
into the garden for recess. 

“ Go join your mates, my dear child,” said Saint 
Cecelia. 

Agnes Anthon, a girl of fifteen, who came to the 
convent for two hours each day to learn fancy-work, 
was introducing the game of “ Characters” to the 
elder girls gathered in a beautiful arbor and eager in 
their amusement. They called Lilly to join them. 

As she sat. with them, watching the progress of 


76 


PRIEST A ED NUE . 


the game, the splashing waters of a fountain near by 
reminded her of the infant brothers who had lacked 
baptismal waters. Could she not, by an act of relig- 
ion, then and there, do something for their salvation? 

She turned her longing, intense look to some blue 
depth of distance far away. Her lips moved sound- 
less. She almost held her breath. 

“ Lilly !” cried the girls. 

“ Quick, Lilly; it is your turn.” 

“ Lilly, are you dreaming ?” 

“ Bless me, the child’s in a trance !” cried Grace. 

“ There, girls,” said Lilly, turning delighted to her 
companions, “ I’ve said the Hail Mary ten times !” 

“ Lilly, Lilly,” said Agnes, “I see you have priest- 
craft on the brain, and I’m afraid you’ll die of it.” 

“ Lilly is much more religious than we are,” said 
Grace, “ though we have been confirmed and she has 
not.” 

“ It is not confirmation that makes Christians, but 
a change of heart,” said Agnes. 

“ What is a change of heart ?” asked Grace. 

“ Why,” said Agnes, who found it easier to assert 
than explain, “it is the heart being changed x he 
love of sin and the service of Satan to the iove arid 
service of God.” 

“Then, of course, as there is such a difference 
when the heart is changed we know it,” said Grace. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


77 


■' I suppose so,” replied Agnes. 

“ Then my heart has never been changed, for ii’s 
just the same as it always was,” cried Adelaide. 

“ Unless it is changed you cannot enter heaven, ’ 
said Agnes. 

“ Oh, Adelaide,” said Lilly, “ your heart was 
changed when you were baptized. Sister Cecelia 
says it is always so.” 

The large clock over the door of entrance to the 
xmvent from the garden struck the hour of noon, 

Lilly turned from her companions. Agnes put her 
hand on Grace’s shoulder. “What a hateful place 
that convent is,” she said in a low tone. “ I am 
fairly ashamed even of coming here to learn to do 
fancy-work. I would not, only my aunt insists so. 
Just as if there were no Protestants who could do 
elegant work as well as nuns !” 

“ Agnes,” said Grace, slowly, “ I think these con- 
vents are folly, at least for people of brains. Look 
at the Sisters. Some of them devoted to fine needle- 
work or water-color painting, and the others to acts 
of religion.” 

“ The last is good enough, if they lived religion in 
the right way,” said Agnes. 

“ Sometimes,” said Grace, “ I feel as if religion is 
the only thing to be thought of. I try with all my 
might to live up to what Father Murphy and the 


78 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mother Superior tell me, but I don’t get any satis- 
faction from it. Then I give my whole mind to 
study, and that satisfies me better. That is one thing 
that makes me dislike convents. I think the nuns 
are just machines. They only learn the surface of 
anything ; they cannot reason. I have read a great 
deal of history — Richard has it — and I have read of 
such grand women who made fame for themselves, 
but not one of them was a nun.” 

“Til tell you what my mother said about that 
once,” replied Agnes. “ She said the grandest things to 
reason on were what was right and what was wrong, 
that we might do the right. Now a Protestant on 
these questions goes to his Bible and his conscience, 
but a Romanist asks his priest, and cannot reason for 
himself. I heard the Catechism-class this morning 
reciting in answer to ‘How shall we know what 
things we are to believe?’ ‘From the Catholic 
Church of God, which he has appointed to teach all 
nations all those things which he has revealed.’ 
That was the answer.” 

Here Adelaide’s laughing face was put between 
these two heads in close converse: “Girls, what do 
you think Lilly is doing? As soon as the clock 
struck she began the 4 Angelus/ and went through 
the whole of it, and she does it three times a day !” 


CHAPTER IV. 


REVEREND MOTHERS OF THE CHILL REN. 

jji HE family of one of the wealthiest merchants of 
J I the city was seated at dinner. With this family 
Y we have but little to do. The merchant had 
invited home with him a business acquaintance about 
to sail for Cuba. This latter gentleman was a person 
of wealth, as was well known to his host’s family. 
The table was waited on by a maid-servant called 
4nnctte. She was evidently of French origin. Her 
hair was drawn back from her face, the ends curling, 
her cap was ornamented with pink ribbons, her teeth 
might be false, her cheeks were undeniably rouged ; 
of her age it would be hard to judge. Her mistress 
pronounced her an admirable servant. She kept her 
eyes modestly cast down, and seemed intent only on 
performing her duties. While at table the mer- 
chant said to his guest, “ Mr. Wynford, you have 
two children ?” 

“A boy and a girl,” said Mr. Wynford. “My 

6011 goes to Cuba with me. My girl is now in the 

79 


so 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


country, but my first business will be to look her out 
a school and place her in it before I 'sail.” 

“ Have you any school in your mind ?” 

“ None at all ; I have only to look about. A good 
home is what I want for her, as the poor child has 
no mother.” 

Her duties at the table over, Annette left the 
house. She passed through many streets, looking 
behind her now and then, and at last stopped at a 
house which she might have reached by a much more 
direct route. It was a plain, three-story stone house, 
with heavy shutters, curtains that were nearly always 
down, double doors and a high iron fence. The 
house stood in but narrow grounds. Just at the rear 
was a high board fence, partly hiding the stables ol 
Michael Shinn. 

The place was unpretenfling enough, and had even 
on that summer evening a chilly, gloomy look. 

Annette unlocked a side gate in the iron fence and 
went in. It is necessary to follow her closely, for in 
a few minutes even a detective would lose trace of 
her. She went in at the iron gate to all appearance a 
verb able serving-maid. Her whole manner changed 
as she unlocked a side door, and, entering the build- 
ing, went up to one of many small rooms in the third 
6tory. It was a room with a narrow window, bare 
floor and walls, a poor, hard pallet in one corner, an 










Annette. Sister Clement. 

One Person in Two Characters. Pa^e 81 




PRIEST. AND NUN 


81 


iron crucifix opposite it, a suit of nun’s garments 
hanging against the wall. 

Annette cast away her serving-maid finery, took 
off her high-heeled boots and grew shorter ; removed 
her black wig and pink cap, and lo, thin, light hair ; 
washed away the rouge and pearl powder, and there 
was a haggard, yellow face with whitish eyebrows. 
Next she dad herself in the dress of her order — a 
black alpaca gown, an apron of the same, reaching to 
the hem of the robe, a close black hood with a large 
cape, a white band across her 1 row, and white kerchief 
around her neck, a rosary and cross hung to her girdle. 
She was no longer Annette, she was Sister Clement. 

Sister Clement went down to the sitting-room ol 
this house. There were five women clad like herself 
busy on embroidery. They did not speak much as 
;hey worked. Sister Clement looked at them long 
enough to see that a person she wanted was not there ; 
then pursued her way to the kitchen. Two Sisters 
were here — one getting supper for the household, the 
other baking coarse bread and making soup for a 
small charity-school they maintained. Again Sister 
Clement turned away, now to a dismal little corner- 
room — the oratory of the building. Kneeling before 
ihe altar was a gaunt woman, who seemed entirely 
absorbed in the prayers she was* repeating. Sister 
Clement advanced in the twilight of the ro( n and 
F 


82 


PRIEST A NJD NUN. 


knelt down behind her Superior, occupying the time 
by saying the Litany and the Creed. After a few 
moments the Superior rose and looked about : 
“ Daughter Clement !” 

“Yes, Mother.” 

“ A report ?” 

“ Yes, Mother.” 

“Let it be important enough to have interrupted 
my prayers.” 

Sister Clement repeated the fragment of conversa- 
tion’ from the dinner-table. As she was prosy and 
circumstantial in her recital, the Mother Superior’s 
thoughts seemed turned away from her tale. She 
bent her head, groaned and beat her breast. 

“Mother,” said Sister Clement, impatiently. 

“ The father is rich and but two children ?” 

“ Yes, Mother.” 

“ He may die ; he may be wrecked at sea ; it is 
easy for men to die. Other men have died ;” and 
again the Superior beat her breast with her long, 
bony hands. 

“ Yes, Mother, it is a girl and her money for the 
Church. Where shall she go and which Father shall 
I tell?” 

The Superior flung off her own secret trouble and 
woke to energy: “Go to Father Murphy; he is the 
best, man to meet strangers. The Convent of the 


PRIEST AND NUN 


83 

Immaculate Heart of Mary. Mother Robart is the 
best of the Superiors.” 

“ Excepting yourself, Mother,” said Sister Clement. 

Myself! I should scare the strangers. They 
would as soon give a ghoul a child to bring up. 
Your Mother Robart sits in the sunshine of favor, 
and I perish with remorse.” 

“ You feel worse to-day, Mother Ignatia,” said 
Sister Clement, moved to some tardy pity. “ I dare 
say you have done more for the Church than Mother 
Robart. The Immaculate Heart is like the face of 
the clock, and this House Without a Name is the 
mainspring.” 

“ Daughter Clement !” hissed Mother Ignatia, 
grasping the Sister’s arm, “ I have not eaten for two 
days ; I have not slept for two nights. Last night 
I walked this house over nine times, and I tell you 
there was a ghost walked on either side of me, look- 
ing over my shoulder. I believe I am going mad!” 

“ I believe you are,” said Sister Clement, and went 
away, while Mother Ignatia, kneeling, resumed her 
prayers and her groans. 

Sister Clement let herself out the side door and the 
little iron gate. She came out a staid, thin, bent nun 
of about forty. 

Sister Clement had reached the house of Rev. 
Father Murphy. He was in his private sitting- 


84 


PRIEST A XI) yuy. 


room — a handsomely furnished apartment There 
was a bookcase containing two or three dozen books, 
and on the lower shelf, behind “ Lives of the Saints,” 
a box of chess men and a box of dominoes. The 
Father wore wrapper and slippers, presented on 
Christmas by the nuns of the Immaculate Heart. 
He reclined in a plush-covered easy-chair, and his 
feet rested on a hassock embroidered in the House 
Without a Name. On the table, at his side, was a 
plate of white Syrian grapes, the gift of one of the 
sheep. He was a Father, jolly and fat and fortunate. 
He was reading the New York Ledger and a Prot- 
estant magazine by turns. In the one was a story, 
showing what angels on earth are Sisters of Charity, 
and how holy are the Ursuline nuns — nourishers of 
orphans. In the other, a tale of a Protestant woman 
who became a lay sister to work peace to her soul. 
As Sister Clement was ringing at the front door, 
Father Murphy slapped down his paper and maga- 
zine upon the table, took two big grapes, and chuck- 
led out: L: There’s your Protestant literature! The 
Tablet and the Universe would not be such fools. 
Ha, ha ! that’s the kind to give ’em !” 

Here Sister Clement entered and told her tale of 
Mr. Wynford, who wanted a school for his daughter. 
She inquired if the Convent of the Immaculate Heart 
should be the place, and gave Mr. Wynford’s name. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


8 < 


age, business, present address, former residence and 
many particulars about him, which, to say the least, 
would have confounded her employers with her know- 
ledge. But Sister Clement, laboring as maid-servant 
Annette, gathered every item of information afloat in 
the house. She tampered with letters, listened al 
doors, explored drawers, and in the present instance 
had relieved the pocket of Mr. Wynford’s duster of 
one epistle, and read another carelessly left in his 
hat. 

The conclusion of this business was, that Sister 
Clement should go to the Immaculate Heart, and 
make an appointment with Mother Hobart to re- 
ceive Father Murphy and a stranger at ten next day. 

Sister Clement turned to go. 

“ I trust the Mother Ignatia is well/’ said the 
Father; “she is a very valuable daughter of the 
Church, and her life -is particularly precious.” 

“ Then you had better go and see her,” said the 
nun ; “ she is fasting and keeping vigils, and seeing 
ghosts, and I think getting ready for her grave fast 
enough.” 

Sister Clement spoke indifferently. She cared little 
whether her superior lived or died. If she died, 
Sister Clement might reasonably look forward to 
being in charge of the House Without a Name. 

Father Murphy, however, preferred that Igna^a 


86 


JPRIEST AND NUN. 


should live. He put on his hat and gloves, cast n 
last loving look on his grapes, and proceeded to the 
gray stone house, where he gained admission and a 
low obeisance. He strode to the chapel, where the 
nun, in coarse garb, yet kept her bootless vigils : 
u Rise up, daughter Ignatia !” he said, grandly. 

The nun lifted her blood-shot eyes: “Oh, Father, 
my miseries have come back upon me like fiends from 
the pit. You are an exorcist, Father; deliver me 
from these spirits !” 

“ Some of your own kitchen’s bread and soup will 
be the best exorcism, daughter,” said Father Murphy, 
bluntly. “ A weak body brings weak brains. You 
are laying yourself open to the attacks of the adver 
sary. Follow me to the refectory.” 

Father Murphy, well-fed and portly, marched tc 
the bare, dingy dining-room, where, at an uncovered 
pine table, the sisters took their coarse meals. Be- 
hind him went Ignatia, trembling with fasting and 
excitement, so that she could hardly walk. 

The austere, morbid character of Ignatia swayed 
her household. There were with her only those sworn 
to the most rigid Jesuitical severities. Around them 
were none of the amenities of life. Hard fare, hard 
labor, hard religion — this the order of each dreary 
day. The light of heaven, social converse, bodily 
comfort, peace of mind — these all were denied to the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


87 


few Jonely fanatics gathered in that House Without a 
Name. 

Father Murphy gave Ignatia one of the hard stools 
used as seats. A dim lamp was placed in the room 
where darkness came early, and the Father sent a 
shout to the kitchen, ordering soup and bread. 

“ I am sworn to fasting,” faltered Ignatia. 

“ I release you,” said Father Murphy, “ and do not 
swear yourself to that again for a month. Our holy 
Church needs you, daughter Ignatia. There is no 
one to fill your place, if you fast yourself into your 
coffin.” He passed into the parlor, where sat the 
Sisters, each with a copy of the Exercises of Ravig- 
nan.* It was their hour for study. “ Daughter 
Maria, open the dispensary,” said Father Murphy. 

The nun addressed, the nurse of the house, un- 
locked a closet, and Father Murphy helped himself 
to an opiate, which he put into a wine-glass. 

“ Daughter Magdalena, open the store-closet,” or- 
dered the clerical censor. 

As directed, this Sister unlocked another closet. 
Father Murphy coolly surveyed the contents, made 
the glass with the opiate half full from a bottle of 

* u These exercises are not our institution ; they are not even 
our rules ; but I am convinced that they are its soul and its source . 
They have created the society, and they sustain it ,” — Pere de Ravig* 
nan dans sa Defense des Jesuits. 


88 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


wine, and then reading the labels of the jelly tum- 
blers, took down one marked to his taste and re- 
turned to the refectory. He put a spoonful of jelly 
on a saucer by the Superior, and calmly began eating 
the remainder from the glass himself, as he stood 
near her. 

“Such a sinner as I am, Father, should have none 
of the good things of this life,” said the Superior, 
eyeing the jelly as if it were an infernal machine. 
“ I see terrible ghosts all the time.” 

“ Such frequently arise from an empty stomach,” 
said the matter-of-fact Father. 

“I must atone for this refreshing of the body by 
vigils to-night,” said the nun. 

“You must drink that opiate and go to your pal- 
let,” said Father Murphy. “It is needless to atone 
for what I bid you do.” 

The nun had finished her supper. She took the 
wine-glass in her hand. “ Drink it,” ordered Father 
Murphy. 

The Superior drank. “ Unhappy that I am,” she 
sighed. “ I cannot sleep until I have confessed.” 

“ It is not a week since you were confessed,” said 
Father Murphy, impatiently. 

“ My sins lie heavy on my soul. If I die to-night 
unconfessed ?” 

“ I’ll confess you,” said the Father shortly, and 


PRIEST AND NUN 


89 


opened the door of a very small room, used as a con- 
fessional. It was carpeted, and the sole furnit/jre was 
a straight-backed wooden chair (which Father Mur- 
phy abhorred) and a stool. 

Father Murphy took the chair. Ignatia knelt on 
the stool at his side, bent her head and folced her 
hands on her breast. She began in a low monotone : 
“ I have to accuse myself of the nine ways of being 
accessory to others’ sins : by counsel, by con maud, 
by consent, by provocation, by praise, by o nceal- 
ment, by partaking, by silence, by defence of ill done. 
[ accuse myself of the seven deadly sins : of pride, 
covetousness, lust, wrath, gluttony, envy, sloth. I 
accuse myself of five sins against the Holy Ghost: 
presumption, despair, impugning truth, envy of oi hers’ 
good and obstinacy in sin. I accuse myself ot the 
four sins crying to heaven for vengeance: wi Iful 
murder — ” 

Here the indignation of Father Murphy broke cut : 
li Daughtei Ignatia, when were you guilty of tL A se 
sins ? This week ?” 

“ No, Father.” 

“ Since you took holy vows ?” 

“ No, Father. In the evil days of my youth.” 

“Daughter Ignatia, this is utter folly. You have 
confessed these sins to .ve full nineteen times, and I 
b've absolved ” 


90 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ But they lie heavy on my soul.” 

“ They cannot , for I have dismissed then 

“ Oh, reverend Father, they are crushing my I .art* 
They are eating out my life. I groan over them 
every day. They are not gone .” 

“ The burden is of your morbid imagination. If 
there is any virtue in confession and absolution, yout 
sins are utterly gone. Dare you defy the Church 
and say there is no virtue in her ordinances ?” 

“Far be it from me, Father,” groaned Ignatia. 

“ If I have not benefited you by nineteen absolu- 
tions, what can you hope from the twentieth ?” de- 
manded Father Murphy, practically. 

For reply, Ignatia sent out a low bitter wail : “ My 
sins ! my sins !” 

The hard chair was getting unendurable : “ Daugh- 
ter Ignatia, have you finished your confession?” de 
manded the priest. 

“Yes, Father,” sighed Ignatia, despairingly. 

“ Absolvo Te” said Father Murphy, rising, glad 
to be rid of the chair. Ignatia stood with bowed 
head. “ Sleep,” said Father Murphy, “ is what you 
need to drive these phantoms from your brain. 
Benedicite , my daughter !” 

He turned to go, but the nun sprang frantically 
after him and grasped his sleeve: “Father, if I 
should die — if I should die !” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


91 


“S 3 nd for me,” said Father Murphy, pulling him- 
gelf from her clasp. “I will administer extreme 
unction, and you will be 'perfectly safe. Regard 
these distresses as part of the purification of your 
soul.” 

lie passed through the parlor, ordering Sister Mag- 
dalena, the housekeeper, to see her Superior at once 
to her pallet. 

There, as the night-shadows lengthened over the 
city, and the sentinel stars looked down from the sky, 
the nun Ignatia lay locked in opium slumbers, while 
slowly before her sleeping vision dragged the fearful 
panorama of the past that haunted her by day. There 
was the city of Mexico, where she grew up a foreign 
trader’s child. There, the fatal duel, provoked by 
herself, between brother and lover, where both were 
6lain. There, the husband and child abandoned — 
her own reckless career — herself bending over a gam- 
bler’s deathbed — her parents spurned — and then her 
broken maturity, chased by losses and fierce remorse 
and terror of death, hunted with the remnant of her 
fortune, a wretched suppliant for peace, to the feet of 
Rome. Despair, remorse, terror of retribution, vain 
longing to make restitution — these the fearful train 
that fed upon her vitals. To stop their gnawings she 
had given herself and her money to the Order of 
Jesuits. She had built this nameless House, gath- 


92 


PRIEST AND NUN 


ered in tLese Sisters, and maintained all from her own 
means, while she visited upon herself the extremes! 
rigors of her faith. Her house wa3 Rome’s spider- 
web spread in a secret place. But all in vain ! in 
vain ! Poor blind soul, with blind guides ! One 
drop of blood from Calvary would have washed the 
mountains of her sins for ever away, let in on her 
crushed soul the sunlight of God’s peace, and lapped 
her in eternal rest. 

Behold you now in the morning the goodly Father 
Murphy sending in his card to Mr. Wynford at his 
hotel. Hear his courteous salutation, his delightful 
conversation, his profuse apologies for the liberty he 
has taken. Will Mr. Wynford carry to the Belen — 
the Jesuits’ College at Havana — a child’s portrait on 
ivory — a gift to an only brother — too precious to be 
entrusted to ordinary means of transmission? The 
young gentleman — one of two orphans — is studying 
at the Belen — an admirable institution, affording 
great facilities for studying Spanish. Mr. Wynford 
cannot fail to be interested in a walk through it. 
The reverend Brothers will escort him with 
pleasure 

Yes, the original of the portrait is at the Con- 
vent of tli 3 Immaculate Heart — a delightful home 
school for girls. Mr. Wynford, of course, is a 
bachelor ? 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


93 


JSo, Mr. Wynford is the father of a girl whom 
ie desires to place in school. 

Indeed ! The Reverend Father would n >t dictate, 
out Mr. Wynford might like to visit the House of 
the Immaculate Heart. 

Mr. Wynford accedes, and precisely at ten is at the 
gate of a charming spider’s web, quite unconscious 
that this appointment was made for him last night. 

So the children of our Father at Rome work mat- 
ters, and it is really surprising how we Protestants 
play into their hands.* 

In the cheerful parlor of the Convent of the Im- 
maculate Heart, Mother Robart received her guests. 
A tall, commanding woman was Mother Robart. 
She wore the usual dress of an Abbess, which became 
her well; but she was a Sybarite in holy orders. 
Her dress was of the richest and softest material ; 
mostly her rosary ; costly her crucifix ; costly and 
dainty every item from her headgear to her silken 
hose and kid shoes. 

Vast the difference between Mother Ignatia and 
Mother Robart. To the gates of Rome had swept 

* 1 cannot let pass this opportunity for expressing my deep 
sense of the favor our Father of R. has conferred upon us by 
calling on us to retvrn , welcomed and forgiven, to his paternal 
arms. For myself, I am ouite happy to prefer a far country, feed- 
ing on Protestant husks, to the glories of such a prodigal ■» return. 


94 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mother Hobart, her fortune in her hands, a train of 
converts following her triumphant steps; coming 
with pride and pomp, like Naaman of old to Elisha’s 
door ; and Rome had not set within like a crabbed 
old prophet, refusing to come out, but had welcomed 
her with sounding honors, had shouted over the noble 
convent Moth 3r Hobart caused to rise ; had made her 
an Abbess and sent her to Rome on special business ; 
had explored other convents for the best chirograph- 
ers, needle-women, music-teachers and so on; had 
given her the most gracious nuns, the most zealous 
lay sisters and privileges innumerable. Poor Ig- 
natia, on the contrary, flying in terror, her all in her 
hands, the avenger of blood close behind, “ sought 
peace and found none.” 

Mary of Magdala, mourning over sin, brought her 
box of precious ointment to a Guest at Simon’s 
house. Happy woman ! who bore her offering to 
the right feet. If she had poured the ointment upon 
the feet of Peter, probably the “ seven devils” would 
have held her in possession until this day. 

In Mother Hobart’s parlor were flowers and port- 
folios of drawings, and oil-paintings on the walls. It 
was a right pleasant room, and the Lady Superior 
assured her guest that here she gathered the pupils 
and Sisters about her for cheerful evening hours. Sc 
she did — the favored few. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


95 


When Mr. Wynford admired two small landscape 
oil-paintings, the Mother tranquilly remarked that 
they were done by Sister Anna, instructress in that 
art, though truth obliges us to confess that they 
were bought at auction. 

Sister Cecelia w r as called to conduct the party over 
the building, She preceded them, voluble of tongue. 
Mother Hobart majestically followed, Mr. Wynford 
and Father Murphy coming after, side by side. The 
door of a small parlor overlooking the garden was 
opened. “ Oh,” says Sister Cecelia, u I had forgot • 
ten this was the hour for fancy-work !” 

In truth, Sister Josepha had been ordered to take 
the flow r er of the school to that attractive spot, where, 
in an open bow-v r indow, were working and chatting 
Agnes Anthon, Grace, Adelaide and Lilly. They 
were busy on silk embroidery; their bright faces, 
tasteful dress and elegant work causing Mr. Wyn- 
ford to wish his daughter among them. In the 
music-room the best pupil was very opportunely 
playing “ Weber’s Last Thought,” a waltz of Reis- 
siger’s, though generally attributed to the greater 
Maestro. Then came the school-room, where the 
writing-books and Sister Cecelia’s copies played an 
important part. 

“I suppose,” said Mr. Wynford to the Abbess, 
u you do not admit dancing ?” 


96 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Tlie Abbess was quick to read looks and tones; 
u Oh yes,” she said, recognizing the gentleman’s 
opinion, “ we consider it very important — a delight- 
ful * distraction/ the French call it. A mistress from 
the city instructs twice a week in my presence. We 
do not expect to bring our pupils up to be Sisters , but 
to take their proper places in the world and answer 
the demands of society.” 

“ Beautiful institution !” murmured Father Murphy. 

The chapel was next visited. What a grand altar- 
piece ! Christ standing on the globe, a thorny crown 
in his hands, cherubs kneeling around. “ I bought 
it the last time I was in Rome for eight hundred 
dollars in gold,” says Mother Robart. A charming 
chapel, painted glass windows of choice designs, 
carvings and mouldings, soft carpets, antique seats, 
glowing plush cushions. A gem of a chapel. “Like 
some in Europe,” says Mr. Wvnford 
“I copied from one in Italy,” replies the Abbess. 
The dining-room was shown— a very different one 
from Mother Ignatia’s. The dormitories — rows of 
snowy beds in the separate halls, the Sisters’ place 
curtained off from the rest. 

U A Sister always in each to secure order and pre- 
vent accident,” says Saint Cecelia. 

The children are pouring out for recess. Mr 
VVy nford naturally asks to see the one whose por- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


' 97 

trait he is to carry to Havana. Now there is no such 
child. But Father Murphy, with ready self-posses- 
sion, asks the Abbess for a name not on the rolls, and 
the Mother, aptly catching the cue, replies that Sister 
Somebody has gone on an errand of mercy to a dis- 
tant part of the city, and has taken the dear child 
with her to enjoy the fine day and cultivate benevo- 
lence. 

A refection is provided in the parlor — lemonade, 
fruit, delicate, crisp little biscuit. Mr. Wynford thinks 
the Convent of the Immaculate Heart paradise, or its 
gate ; the Abbess, magnificent (as indeed she is) ; and 
he engages to entrust his Estelle, aged thirteen, to her 
charge, and will deliver her at the convent the third 
day from that time. 

“ May I take this as a specimen of all convents ?” 
asks Mr. Wynford, blandly, between lemona^ and 
biscuit. 

“ They differ, of course, in minor points/’ replies 
the Abbess. “ This is a wealthy House. There are 
some where the rule is stricter, the nuns being clois- 
tered. There are others merely homes for Sisters, 
who are constantly among the poor, sick and dying. 
But one great aim animates them all and makes them 
similar — the desire of doing good.” She made no 
mention of Houses Without Names. 

“ Beautiful institution !” said Mr, Wynford. 

9 G 


98 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


The guest departs with the priest. The Abbess 
looking after him, is apparently engaged upon some 
arithmetical problem : “ One hundred thousand — 
divided by two — fifty thousand; possible encum- 
brances. Take it at its lowest figure — thirty thou- 
sand.” 

The convent vacation came in October. This was 
because Mother Robart found that, if the school was 
opened during the summer, many girls, at other times 
day-scholars, became boarders while their parents or 
guardians were out of the city for summer journeys. 
Owing to these circumstances, Agnes Anthon, Grace 
and Adelaide were now boarding for a while at the 
Immaculate Heart. 

The chief attention of the girls was taken up by 
the approaching celebration of the Assumption of the 
Blessed Virgin. We should except Agnes Anthon, 
who would not be persuaded to take any part in it. 
“ I am a Protestant,” she said, “ and this is no work 
for Protestants. My mother would not like it.” 

“ Do as you think best, my dear child,” said Saint 
Cecelia, mildly, but privately warned her pupils 
against any intimacy with the young rebel : “ She is a 
girl of insolent, obstinate, imperious spirit, quite unfit 
for a child of the Church to associate with. Adelaide, 
you have learned your Catechism — What are the seven 
virtues ?” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


OS 


“ Humility — There I’ve forgotten it again !” 
laughed Adelaide. 

“ I am sorry for that. But you see that Agnes 
lacks the very first one.” 

“The last time I tried to learn Catechism was 
Consecration Hay, and I left it to quarrel with 
Grade over a satin sash,” said Adelaide, with a 
burst of laughter. 

“Grace, you can say the three eminent good 
works,” said Saint Cecelia. 

“ I can’t,” said Grace, perversely. “ I was busy 
quarreling over the sash too.” 

The girls did not look very quarrelsome as they 
stood with their arms about each other, but Grace 
was provoked at hearing Agnes condemned. Lilly, 
to comfort Sister Cecelia, said the good works : 
1 Alms’ deeds, prayer, fasting.” 

“ You see that Agnes has none of those,” said the 
nun, “ therefore she is no fit friend for children of the 
Church. Lilly, say the three evangelical counsels.” 

“Voluntary poverty, perpetual chastity, entire obe- 
dience.” 

“ I won’t do ’em,” said Adelaide, mischief in her 
eye. “ I’m going to marry a rich man, live like a 
princess, and do just as I please.” 

“I want to be famous — to do great things,” said 
Grace. ? 


100 


PRIEST AND NTJR. 


“ Jf Princess Adelaide is a true Catholic, and if 
Sister Grace does great things for the Church, it will 
be very well,” said Saint Cecelia. “My Lilly v\ ill 
take the three evangelical counsels into her heart?” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Lilly, softly, a dreamy look 
coming into her violet eyes. 

Sister Cecelia reached out her hand and drew her 
toward her. Was it by accident that Agnes came in 
humming — 

‘ * And the cruel spider caught her, 

And quickly held her fast?” 

Saint Cecelia did not look over-pleased at this in- 
terruption of her edifying converse with her pupils. 
She was cold to Agnes. Mother Robart was very 
gracious to Agnes, because she knew the girl was 
soon going to another school, and she wanted her to 
carry into the world pleasant impressions of the con- 
vent. “ She is a stiff little Protestant now, but the 
seed sown here may one day spring,” said the Abbess 
to Saint Cecelia. “ I was not a Catholic myself when 
I left my convent school, but early impressions are 
strongest, and when I turned to religion at all, I 
turned to that in which I had been trained.” 

Agnes Anthon’s father was with the American 
Legation at Rome. His wife had accompanied him 
to Italy for her health, but his means did not permit 
him to take Agnes; and besides, he wished her tc 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


101 


attend to her studies at home. Agnes was a girl of 
nnusual intellectual powers — had a retentive memory 
and a logical mind — had read much, and had been 
blessed with thorough teachers. After Saint Cece- 
lia’s warning, Lilly was little in Agnes’ society, but 
Grace was completely bewitched by her new friend. 
Agnes had keen powers of sarcasm. She had studied 
Latin and read Virgil. She was Grace’s beau ideal. 

Richard Kemp frequently called at the parlor of 
his aunt the Abbess to see his half-sister Grace. Rich- 
ard admired the Superior, though he did not admire 
her faith. Mother Robart, however, did not despair 
of converting him, as she had the rest of her family. 

Richard was delighted at the accounts he received 
from Grace of Agnes, and decided within himself 
that it would be a grand thing to “ prime” the girls 
for an attack on Father Murphy the first time he 
came among them. He warily got Grace into a de- 
termination to ask the priest concerning the Bible, 
and sent word to Agnes that invocation of the saints 
was borrowed from the Latins, tonsure from the 
Brahmins, and prayers for the dead were introduced 
by iEneas. 

“ I knew that, without Mr. Kemp telling me,” said 
Agnes, proudly. She saw Richard’s plan at once and 
was amused by it, but resolved to bring out her own 
weapons just when it suited best. “ I would cer- 


102 


PRIEST AND NUN 


tainly ask the priest why I could not read the IP ly 
Bible, if I were in your place/’ she said to Grace. 

“ I will some time/’ said Grace. 

At the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary 
were some fifty nuns, several Jay sisters and a large 
number of pupils. These pupils were from five to 
eighteen years of age — some few of them Catholics, 
the majority Protestants, the reason for the scare’ ty 
of Romanists being that they were generally unal -le 
to pay the high rates demanded for tuition and f x- 
tras. Mother Hobart w T anted her pupils to be from 
the upper classes of Protestants. Of these girls 
several had been privately received into full com- 
munion with the Church of Rome, their parents 
being in blissful ignorance of the fact, believing and 
often stating to their friends that “no efforts were 
made to proselyte, the Sisters discountenancing any- 
thing of the kind.” In fact, there was a great ap- 
parent liberality and fairness. The pupils were let 
alone until* it was evident what manner of spirits 
they were of, and then were tampered with so slyly 
as for some time to be unconscious of it themselves. 
Two-thirds of the pupils went to confession.* Of 

* Quite recently a young Protestant lady, who is an inmate of 
one of these convents, told us that in three months nearly a score 
of Protestant young ladies had renounced their faith and been 
baptized into the Romish Church in the institution of which die 
is an inmate.— Christian at Work. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


103 


ihese was Lilly, who went entirely without the 
knowledge of her mother. All children of Papists 
are expected to confess after attaining the age of 
seven years.* 

At one time the suspicions of Mrs. Schuyler were 
aroused, and she abruptly asked Lilly if she attended 
confession. 

Terrified at the thought of betraying the nuns, 
the girl faltered, “ No, ma’am.” 

This falsehood lay heavy on her tender spirit, and 
when next at confession she revealed it to Father 
Murphy. 

“ Ought I to tell mamma of it, and ask her to 
forgive me,” inquired Lilly. 

“ You told the falsehood with good intention. It 
is the intention that makes the character of our acts. 
Being in behalf of the Church, the motive purified 
it. A good motive can purify perjury.” f 

On Saturday afternoon, therefore, Sisters Anna and 
Cecelia took each a band of pupils to confession. 
Thus all those who practiced this, which they sup- 
posed to be a duty, were confessed once each month. 

The confessional adjoined the convent chapel, and 

* See Catechism for use of Catholic Church in Archdiocese of 
Cincinnati, p. 33. 

f One can swear that he has not done a thing, though he ha*; 
really done it. — Oper . ilfor., p. 2, 1. iii., c. 6, n. 13. 


104 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


had a small parlor attached to it. In this parlo), 
the Sister in charge of the band of pupils maintained 
due gravity among them, while one of their numbei 
was engaged in the adjacent confessional in pouring 
out her sins — not to God, but to man. “ Sister” 
would bid the girls spend the time of waiting in pre- 
paring themselves thoroughly for their duty, by 
“ carefully examining their consciences upon the ten 
commandments, the seven deadly sins, etc,” and, as 
each one passed her to go to Father Murphy, would 
say, solemnly, “ He who wdllfully conceals a sin in 
confession commits a great sin by telling a lie to the 
Holy Ghost, and makes his confession nothing worth.” 

The confessional in the Convent of the Immacu- 
late Heart of Mary was much more agreeable to 
Father Murphy than the dismal den at Ignatia’s 
house. The ample, cushioned chair was an easy rest ; 
the windows were daintily draperied ; the carpet was 
soft ; the temperature of the apartment just right the 
year round. There was none of the passionate re- 
morse and self-upbraiding that fretted him in Ig~ 
natia — none of the ceaseless penances that were de- 
manded at the House Without a Name, and which 
bored the comfortable Father most unmercifully. 
The childish penitents babbled out their little pecca- 
dilloes in musical monotony, interspersed now and 
then by ghostly questions which they did not half 


PRIEST AND NUN 


105 


comprehend. Sometimes, if the day were warm 01 
his dinner had been hearty, the holy Father dozed, 
all unsuspected by his neophytes. 

Estelle Wynford had come to the convent. Het 
face combined, as did her blood, the Italian and Eng- 
lish types. She was an impulsive, unsophisticated 
creature, ready to prattle all she knew. Yet, while 
her nature seemed all surface, there were clinging 
tenderness and uncompromising firmness in # its 
depths. Estelle was, in truth, neither Catholic nor 
Protestant. Her father knew no worship but of 
aimself. He looked upon religion as fanaticism, and 
held himself loftily above it. His children had 
about as much devotion as France during the Revolu- 
tion. They regarded the Sabbath as a day for their 
ease and recreation ; one creed was as good as 
another, and none essential. If Agnes Anthon fas- 
cinated Grace, Estelle charmed all the girls by her 
ardent, excitable temperament, her ready adaptation 
to any circumstances, and her acquaintance with 
foreign lands. It was now the summer term, when 
so many of the girls were boarding at the convent. 
Each morning they heard matins at six, and low 
mass at eight. 

On Sunday morning there was a long service, then 
a Catechism recitation for all who chose to attend of 
the Protestants, the Romanists being obliged to b* 


106 


PRIEST AND SUN. 


prepared with the lesson. “How liberal this was! 
no pressure upon the minds of Protestant pupils ; per- 
fect liberty allowed ; coercion or proselyting not 
countenanced/* I think I hear said by convent-ad- 
mirers among every sect. The Protestants who did 
not desire to attend were, however, permitted to sit 
two seats off in full hearing. They might amuse 
themselves with books if they liked ; but their seat 
was so discreetly chosen that there was not light 
enough to read conveniently. Between the Cate- 
chism in school and in church, and the prayers or- 
dered and repeated aloud before and after meals, and 
on rising and retiring, the Protestant pupils could 
not avoid learning the whole of the precious com- 
pound during a very short attendance at the school. 
Besides, to attend and take part in this Sabbath reci- 
tation brought a heretic pupil much applause and 
commendation, and some desired privilege during 
the week, and would erase three discredit-marks from 
said pupil’s roll. These things were thoroughly un- 
derstood and acted upon, though the girls had never 
heard all these inducements formally set forth by the 
Sisters. 

After dinner, and an hour or two for rambling in 
the garden and reading whatever literature the con- 
vent possessed — which was little indeed — the pupils 
were called to the school-room for two hours* study 


PRIEST AND NUN 


107 


of lessons for the succeeding day, or writing then 
exercises or compositions. 

“I will not do it,” said Agnes Anthon; “it is 
a desecration of the Sabbath.” 

“No, daughter Agnes,” said the stately Abbess, 
“ we cannot desecrate the Sabbath by cultivation of 
the mind. I should not permit you to sew or take 
a dancing-lesson. But the mind is immortal, is 
spiritual. What we do for the mind we do for eter- 
nity. To learn the school-lessons for the ensuing 
day is perfectly proper employment.” 

“ Such a proceeding is against my conscience,” said 
4gnes ; “ and if you please, Mother Bobart, my ideas 
of right and wrong are in my own keeping, and I 
must obey them.” 

“ I shall not force you to do what you suppose to 
be wrong. You can spend the time, while the others 
are at study, by yourself in the organ loft,” said the 
Abbess, coldly. 

It was not long before there was another encounter 
with Agnes ; indeed the girl took special delight in 
exciting a small passage-at-arms. She entered the 
music-room, where Estelle and Lilly were practicing 
a hymn for the coming celebration — *Star of the 
Sea and Q*>een of Heaven !” 

“ What heathenish music is that?” exclaimed 
Agnes. 


108 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Sister Cecelia was in charge of the room just then, 
and with smothered wrath in her voice she began 
with her usual formula, “ My dear child,” and pro- 
ceeded : “ Such shocking words are the outgrowings of 
a profane and evil heart. I shall report them to the 
Mother Superior.” 

Accordingly Agnes was presently summoned to the 
parlor, where the Abbess was occupied with several 
Sisters considering the arrangement of some tableaux, 

u Daughter Agnes,” said the Superior, sternly, 
“ you have greatly distressed and offended us by the 
insult you have offered our Blessed Lady.” 

“ I assure you, madam,” said Agnes, “ I have not 
said a word about the Virgin.” 

“ But you have characterized a sacred hymn to her 
honor as heathenish.” 

“ Why, Mother Bobart, the hymn was ‘ Star of the 
Sea and Queen of Heaven.’ ” 

“ And by those titles we address the Holy Virgin.” 

“ Then I beg ten thousand pardons. The ancients 
called Juno the Star of the Sea and Queen of Heaven, 
so of course it sounded to me as if they were singing 
to her , which would be utter folly in the nineteenth 
century,” said Agnes, demurely, but with triumph in 
her downcast eyes. 

Mother Bobart bit her lip : “ I trust, being now 
enlightened, you will not transgress again.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


109 


“ On, certainly not,” said Agnes, “ unless I happen 
\o hear some more antiquity, which to my ignorance 
shall seem out of place.” 

As this unrighteous leaven was working in the 
school, the Superior thought it best to give her pupils 
6ome especial instructions. They were, therefore, to 
spend the evening in the parlor with the Abbess. A 
basket of fine peaches was on hand to make the occa- 
sion more palatable. Sister Cecelia, Saint Sophia and 
one or two other nuns were met with them, and the 
darkness of their juvenile minds must needs presently 
vanish. 

“ Our next festival,” said Mother Hobart, “ is that 
of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 
What does this mean ?” 

“It means,” cried Lilly, with all the eagerness of 
full belief, “ when the Virgin was taken soul and 
body into heaven.” 

“ Are we to suppose that she never died ?” asked 
Estelle. 

“ A venerable tradition tells us that she died : but 
before her body suffered corruption it was taken into 
heaven, to be there crowned as queen by her divine 
Son,” replied Mother Robart. 

“ Since the world has demanded such clear historic 
procf of the Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus,” 
said Agnes, “ I should not think it would be satisfied 
10 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


no 

with the authority of mere tradition on the point of 
the Assumption of the Virgin !” 

“ It can be clearly proved by logic as well as by 
tradition,” said the Abbess. “ How comes death 
into the world ?” 

u By sin,” said Grace. 

“ The Virgin and her Son endured death out of 
their exceeding humility. But, as they were both 
entirely and equally without sin, it was impossible 
that they should see corruption,” said the Superior. 
“ They hallowed death and the grave by partaking 
of them, and then ascended into glory.” 

“ But how can you prove,” asked Agnes, “ that the 
Virgin was undefiled, and how explain the doctrine 
of the Immaculate Conception?” 

“I am speaking now,” said the Abbess, severely 
** to Catholics, or to those whose minds are open to 
receive truth. I trust there is no one but yourself 
who would dare so blasphemously to question this 
dogma of the Church. The Church is infallible, and 
I would not stoop to prove her assertions. We accept 
them as the voice of God.” 

Agnes dropped her head as if abashed, and the 
Superior, after this triumph, went on to say : “ This 
doctrine of the Immaculate Conception is the most 
glorious prerogative of Mary — root of her being the 
Mother of Christ. When the foundation-stone of this 


PRIEST ANU NUN. 


Ill 


convent was laid, I took a solemn vow that the 
i Little Office of the Immaculate Conception ’ should 
every morning be said in full choir, knowing well 
that nothing could be more agreeable to the Holy 
Virgin; ” 

“ Sister Cecelia told me,” said Lilly, “ that I should 
not let a day pass without saying at least ten times, 
* O Mary ! conceived without sin, pray for us who 
have recourse to thee.’ ” 

“ Which of Holy Mary’s two great privileges is the 
more important,” asked Grace — “ being the Mother of 
J esus or being conceived without sin ?” 

“ The last, undoubtedly,” replied the Abbess, “ for 
it was only because she was immaculate that Christ 
condescended to become her Son.” * 

“At the convent in Michigan, where I was two 
years,” said Sister Sophia, “we spent the first ten 
days in December in adoration of the Holy Virgin, 
and she wrought three separate miracles for us. She 
extended the arms of her image in benediction, and 
she appeared clothed in light to one of the Sisters. 
She also appeared to a very obstinate heretic girl and 
converted her.” Sister Sophia looked tranquil supe- 
riority at Agnes. 

“ I wish she would appear to me,” said Agnes. 

* From the “Ave Maria,” a book for Catholic children.- -See 
Catholic Standard. 


112 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ The Church has multiplied privileges, indul- 
gences, prayers, orders and associations to those who 
have taken to their hearts this secret of the Immacu- 
late Conception,” said Mother Hobart. “ For myself, 
I had this name given to this House because I believe 
that doctrine to be the bulwark of our holy faith.” 

“It is singular,” said the incorrigible Grace, “ that 
this bulwark was not earlier understood. I have read 
that it was started in 1476 by the Gray Friars, and 
the Pope took it up and offered absolution to all who 
would add to the Ave Maria, ‘ And blessed be th) 
Mother Anna, from whom, without blot of original 
sin, proceeded thy Virgin flesh/ ” 

“You have read many heretical falsehoods,” said 
the Superior, “but this one does not disprove the 
purity and truth of the doctrine we are sustaining.” 

“ But when that doctrine was first held forth half 
the Catholic world called it an 6 infernal heresy/ ” said 
Agnes, boldly. 

Agnes* torpedo had exploded with considerable 
effect. The nuns were horror-stricken, the pupils 
held their breath, the Abbess was red with fury. 

“ Sister Cecelia, conduct Agnes to her room, apart 
from the rest, and henceforth, while this holy House 
must be distressed by her presence, do you keep her 
in charge, that she may not contaminate our other 
pupils/* Such was the Superior’s mandate. When 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


113 


the room was relieved of the young heretic’s presence, 
the Abbess said : “ You see to what a pitch of wicked-* 
ness a heretic can arrive. When I was in Rome, I 
saw many blessed relics of the Virgin, and knew of 
many miracles wrought by them and by the statue 
and person of our Lady. If you would gain heaven, 
there is no surer way than to worship the Blessed 
Virgin and hold fast to the doctrine of her Immacu- 
late Conception.” * 

The day of the celebration of the “ Assumption of 
ihe Virgin ” was the gala day of the school year. The 
services in the chapel were of the most imposing 
order. The pupils who had been confirmed received 
the communion, and shocked might many Protestant 
parents have been to see their children kneeling in 
that act of idolatry. Among the exercises and enter- 
tainments of the school was a tableau of the grand 
altar-piece, in which, instead of Christ upon the 
globe, the Virgin was so represented, with an infant 
in her arms, and the loveliest of the pupils, white- 
robed and winged for the occasion, knelt about in 
adoration. It was a tableau arranged at great ex- 

* The nearest approach as an object of worship to the Virgin 
Mary, as to-day set forth by the Church of Rome, was the Juno of 
the ancients. J uno was addressed by the same names, and an Im- 
maculate Conception was also ascribed and celebrated to her 
honor. 

10 * 


H 


114 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


pense anil with fine effect, and was rapturously re- 
ceived by all the spectators. Most beautiful pan of 
the picture was Lilly, who hardly looked as if she 
belonged to this rugged earth. 

“ My blessed child,” said the Abbess, clasping the 
girl in her arms in the ante-room, “ there is but one 
place in this world fit for you, and that is the sacred 
shelter of a convent. There may your purity and 
piety find its haven of rest !” 

Ah, Lilly, Lilly! poor, ardent, misguided child! 
alas for this world if there is no purer place than a 
convent for spirits like thine! Is it the shadow 
of the coming ill, the agony of spirit, the loneli- 
ness and remorse of the coming day, that rises a cloud 
no bigger than a man’s hand in thy morning sky? 

Agnes was permitted under ban to view the cere- 
monies of the day.* She was tired of the week of 
seclusion that had been forced upon her. 

Richard Kemp saw her from afar, and slyly prom- 
ised Adelaide a ring, for which she longed , if she 
would unexpectedly introduce him to Agues, thus 
stealing a march upon Saint Cecelia and the Abbess. 
Adelaide, nothing loath, came up just as Richard 
had established himself near Agnes, and very charm- 
ingly introduced them. 

“ You do not seem to enjoy this occasion, Miss 
Anthon,” said Richard. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 115 

“ No, sir; the convent is a prison, and I can hear 
the clank of the chains under all the flowers and 
finery.” 

“• There is a doleful-looking little nun who seems 
of your opinion,” spid Bichard, 

“ That is a new Sister, a proselyte from Missouri.” 

“It seems,” said Richard, “that half the nuns 
are proselytes, and half the proselytes are from 
Missouri.” 

“I have noticed that, and wondered at it,” said 
&.gnes. 

“ Poor Missouri,” said Richard, “ is an unfortunate 
State, almost without Protestant schools. The con- 
vents there make no more of swallowing the girls of 
a whole village than the whale did of Jonah.” 

“ Nephew Richard,” said the Abbess, sweeping 
down, “ I do not allow promiscuous conversation ; I 
am the guardian of my young ladies.” 

“ My reverend aunt, I assure you I am the most 
harmless creature,” began Richard. Saint Cecelia 
was on hand with laudable promptitude, and con- 
veyed Agnes from the room. 

“ I was merely commenting on the unhappy look 
of yon nun,” said Richard to his aunt. 

“She is homesick,” said the Abbess, her eagle eye 
scanning the nun in question. But in a few mo- 
ments this nun also disappeared, and was seen no more. 


CHAPTER V. 


SECRET GUARDIAN S OF THE CHILDREN . ’ 

the day after the celebration, Agnes was sum- 
moned to the parlor of the Superior. 

“ I have written to your aunt about you, 
daughter Agnes/’ said Mother Hobart. “We have 
endeavored to treat you with all tenderness and con- 
sideration, but you have set yourself against us. 
We consider you a detriment to our school. Had 
you been entrusted to us as a regular pupil like 
others, we should have deemed it our duty with 
patience to bring you to a better mind. As you are 
only waiting here your father’s selection of a school, 
we hope your departure to such a place as he shall 
choose will be hastened. We have written to your 
aun ; that we can no longer entertain you to the dam- 
age of our House. She replies that it will be yet a 
fortnight before she shall return to take charge of 
you. We shall therefore send you for that fortnight 
to a House in the city, where there are no pupils to 
be injured by your insolence, your obstinacy and 
vour misrepresentations.” 

116 


PRIEST AND NUN 


117 


u This convent,” said Agnes, “ is a palace, yet it is 
a prison still. I do not know where you are taking 
me, but I have heard that girls in convents are apt to 
make disappearances and never come to light again.” 

“Your insinuation is beneath contempt, daughter 
Agnes. Best assured that, though this House where 
I send you may be lonely and severe, as soon as your 
aui t returns you shall be restored to her, and your 
dej arture from here is forced by your own rebellion 
ags inst the proprieties of this institution.” 

Agnes did not reply. The Abbess had certainly 
gai aed the advantage of her, as, considering all cir- 
su / astances, was only to be expected. All Agnes 
co 1 dd say was childish impertinence. She was put 
in the very unpleasant position of being expelled 
fr- #m school — a fact of which her aunt would doubt- 
le' s frequently remind her. 

“Sister Cecelia; will pack your trunk and then 
conduct you to your new home,” said the Abbess. 

“I should like to bid the girls good-bye,” said 
Agnes. 

“ That I cannot permit,” replied the Superior. 

Agnes went up to the dormitory and stood by the 
window while Saint Cecelia concluded the prepara- 
tions for her departure. The girls were playing in 
the garden. Agnes looked down upon them with 
tears in her eyes. Because she w T as not a Papist or a 


118 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


renegade .iie must be sent oft' somewhere by herself , 
and who knew if she should ever come back ? She 
had read of little Mortara, of Eliza Burns, of Mary 
E. Smith and of many others who had been spirited 
off by pi .ests and nuns. Poor child ! she felt very 
miserable, yet was too proud to show it. The laugh- 
ter of he)* companions came up to her like a wail ; 
the sunlight was darkness; the heart in her bosom 
was like lead. This girl, you know, was not sixteen 
years old. She was far from father or mother, and 
her aunt did not care a penny for her. She though', 
it one of the misfortunes of her lot that she was not 
rich — that she was, indeed, in very moderate circum* 
stances. But we, who know Rome so much better, 
can see that this was one of the best things that could 
have befallen her. She was not a prize worth mak- 
ing any trouble for. Had she been a larger fish, she 
might not have slipped so easily through the net of 
Rome. 

Agnes’ meditations were interrupted by the click 
of the lock as Saint Cecelia fastened her trunk. 

“You will get on your sack and bonnet nov /' 
said the nun. 

“ Is it a long walk ?” asked Agnes. 

“We shall ride,” said Saint Cecelia. 

“ Where is this House, and what is it called * 
asked Agnes, trying to affect indifference. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


m 


“ I have not been instructed to hold any conversa- 
tion with you,” replied that animate machine called 
Saint Cecelia 

They passed through deserted halls out the great 
dcor of the convent. No one met them. There was 
no kind look or farewell. Sister Cecelia was stern 
Agnes ready — but too proud — to cry. 

At the gate was a livery carriage from Michae 
Shinn’s stables, driven by John Mora. He made a 
low reverence to Saint Cecelia, looked a little curi- 
ously at Agnes, and they were driven off. According 
to instructions, John took a roundabout way, and after 
nearly an hour’s driving set Agnes and the nun down 
before the House Without a Name, and went off imme- 
diately. Saint Cecelia rang the bell, and the heavy 
front door opened for them after some delay. Even 
in August the halls of this nameless House were damp 
and chilly. Agnes was conducted to the bare parlor, 
where Mother Ignatia sat alone. 

“ This is the young woman the Mother Superior 
of the Immaculate Heart wishes to have remain here 
for two weeks,” said Saint Cecelia. 

“ Our House is at the service of the Church,” 
answered Ignatia. 

Saint Cecelia bowed and went away. As she left 
the door a flaunting maid-servant entered the side 
gate. Saint Cecelia glanced at her curiously, only 


120 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


half a glimpse of the truth crossing her mind. It was 
Sister Clement. 

Agnes stood yet in the parlor. Ignatia eyed her 
closely for a few minutes : then she spoke : 

“ This is a silent House. We are few of us here, 
wholly set apart from the vanities of this world and 
intent only on saving our souls. You will be re- 
quired to obey our regulations while you are with us. 
Our fare is poor and coarse; our House is desolate; the 
flesh with us is mortified ; only the soul is cared for. 
You can go to the room prepared for you. Your 
trunk is there. You will receive your orders as they 
are necessary.” 

She was taken to a small room in the third story. 
It had a curtainless window, which overlooked 
Michael Shinn’s stables. As she entered it a nun 
came out of the next room. The nun was Sister 
Clement. 

Sister Clement went down to the parlor, and pre- 
sented herself before the Superior. 

“ There is a Protestant girl up stairs whom we are 
to take care of for two weeks,” said Ignatia. U I put 
her in your care while you are here. She must con- 
form to the rules of this House, occupy herself with 
work for our benefit, and fare as we do. She will be 
present at our exercises and keep the fast with us to 
morrow.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


121 


“ We have no orders to keep her or convert her ?” 
asked Clement. 

“No,” said the Superior; “Father Murphy does 
not think she is worth making especial effort for.” 

Now this was not very flattering to Agnes. As 
the Superior thus stated Father Murphy’s views, a 
hollow voice in the doorway said, “ Any soul is worth 
taking especial pains for. Our Church has thought 
one soul v 07 th fire and sword. If one heretic is in 
this House and leaves it unconverted, Rome is weak- 
ened by the loss of one servant, and blood will be 
found upon your garments.” 

The two nuns looked up. Ignatia rose quickly. 
Father Douay, a gaunt, eager, fiery-eyed priest stood 
in the doorway. 

“ Daughter Clement, you will attend to our charge,” 
said the Superior. 

“ And what charge is this to whom you will be 
unfaithful, concerning whom you have received such 
base and cowardly orders?” demanded Father Douay. 

Ignatia hastened to explain Agnes’ position. “We 
shall make every effort to convert her,” she said, 
“but our Director, Father Murphy, will not permit 
us to detain her or use force. It would be too open.” 

“Openly or in secret, it is your sworn duty to 
w ork for Rome,” said Father Douay, smiting his 
drinny palms together as he spoke, 
n 


122 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ In America our work is mostly done in secret,” 
said.Ignatia. “The land is not yet ripe for putting 
in the sickle openly. But it is ripening fast.” 

“In France, or, better still, in holy Spain,”* cried 
the Father, “our Church, with royal authority, com- 
mands and men obey. She is not forced to lurk in 
corners or to work in secret. She rules souls and 
minds and fortunes as she will.” 

“The day is coming, is coming!” said Ignatia, 
catching her breath. “ There are great forces at 
work, wider and greater than men know.” 

“I will see this girl before I leave,” said Father 
Douay. 

Father Douay had been in this country but a year. 
We have translated his foreign idiom into plain 
English. He was a zealot of the first degree, a fiery 
fanatic, such as rushed at the head of troops of mur- 
derers on the fatal eve of Saint Bartholomew, or, 
brandishing a cross with frantic zeal, led on hosts of 
Crusaders to destruction. 

We do not accord with hasty statements, to the 
effect that all priests recognize the mighty lie of 
Rome, that all nuns wish themselves free, that 
Rome’s fasts and penances are a farce and a jest to 

* These words were spoken before the recent revolution in 
Spain, which promises to give full liberty of conscience and pro- 
tection to all religious creeds. 


PRIEST AND NUX. 


123 


all but the mob of deluded foreigners and proselytes, 
the laity vho crowd their churches. No, there are 
thousands of priests and nuns whom the serpent-bite 
has made mad — who are made drunken by draughts 
from the cup in her hand whom God has written 
“ Mother of Harlots.” With frightful passion they 
worship at the shrine of Rome. Her bonds eat into 
their flesh. Their brains reel under the pressure of 
their mental pain. They starve bodies and soul, 
sud sink every better instinct of their natures, to 
do Rome service. They believe in her as the Hindu 
talieves in Gunga— as the expiring wretch, under the 
wheels of Juggernaut, believes his god — as the in- 
fituated widow, clamorous for the flaming pile, be- 
lieves in the suttee. 

Of such spirit were Mother Ignatia and Father 
Douay. The nun had heard of the zealous foreigner, 
and had asked permission for him to visit her, trust- 
ing that from his “ holiness” and zeal she might 
obtain some medicine for her tortured soul. Glad to 
be freed for a while from his excited patient, Father 
Murphy, who, as we have seen, was intent rather on 
the temporalities than the spiritualities of the Church, 
had desired Father Douay to officiate for a while as 
confessor at the House Without a Name. 

Ignatia had now the luxury of accusing herself of 
every sin ever heard of. She could bewail again t.he 


124 


PRIEST AND NUN 


full record of her crimes, and chastise them anew with 
all the penances that tender Mother Church directs. 

“ Penance, penance and prayer must do away youi 
iniquities, most wretched woman. Dare you for one 
day hold up your face as Head of this House, when 
you are doing nothing to cleanse yourself from these 
black enormities? Your sins are not done away; 
you have not driven them to the death; you have 
not confessed them fully and with self-abhorrence. 
You will be forsaken of God, of saints, of good an- 
gels, of the Holy Church, and, a miserable apostate, 
you will sink deeper than perdition.” Thus Fathj*’ 
Douay rated his wretched penitent. 

“Take your shoes from your feet; put sackcloth 
on your flesh ; rise to your prayers three hours before 
day ; let the ‘ Confiteor ’ be for ever on your tongue ; 
take but one meal a day, and that jusl after vespers. 
Be sure that, as long as these visions haunt your sleep 
and terrify your waking hours, they are evidences of 
the unappeased wrath of God. If drowsiness come 
upon you at your prayers, put your feet in ice-water 
or your finger in a flame. I can easily see why you 
are so lukewarm about that young heretic’s conver- 
sion. It is because your own soul is in the hands of 
the devil.” 

Thus did this tender shepherd lead the strayed and 
wounded sheep. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


125 


And against this hardness, this refinement of cru- 
elty, did Ignatia rebel ? No ; like the pagan, who 
thinks no physical suffering too great that he may 
save his soul, she accepted the horrible life thrust 
upon her, and r.ecognized every cruel word, every in- 
dicated penance, as new proof of the holiness of her 
priest. 

Oh, poor Ignatia, my heart aches for thee ! What 
if to thy cowering soul, thus hunted by Rome’s 
bitter Pharisees, had come that Tender One, saying, 
in his mercy, “ Neither do I condemn thee; go and 
sin no more !” Very likely thy Rome-trained heart 
would have met such forgiveness with the old-time 
accusation, “ He casteth out devils by Beelzebub, the 
prince of devils.” 

Sister Clement went to the little room whither 
Agnes had been conducted. She coldly surveyed 
the girl for a few seconds, and then said, “ All these 
vanities of attire are here forbidden. Plave you no 
black dress fit for a sinner to wear ?” 

Yes, Agnes had a black dress. At the Convent of 
the -Immaculate Heart of Mary the pupils had been 
required to wear black two days in the week. 

“ Put on your black dress, comb your hair plainly 
behind your ears and come down to the parlor.” 

When Agnes was plainly attired in black, she went 

flown to the parlor, where she was confronted by 

11 * 


126 


PRIEST AND NUN 


Father Douay. The next half hour was spent in 
sharp cross-questioning and excited harangue. Ag- 
nes, having got into considerable trouble by the 
too free use of her tongue, maintained a complete 
silence. 

The priest having left her, Sister Clement and five 
nuns entered. All took their places and their work. 
Agnes was given a stool in one corner, and a piece of 
canvas embroidery to fill up with a purple groundwork. 
Sister Clement then opened The Book of Hours and 
read in a rapid monotone until dinner-time. The 
Superior was not at dinner. The meal was of coarse 
bread and thin soup, exceedingly unpalatable to 
Agnes. 

Back again to the parlor and to work. Sister 
Maria now was reader, and the “ Exercises” — pre- 
cious lore — she poured into the ears of the workers, 
as follows : — 

“ Next comes the exercise of the contemplation of 
hell. One should represent to himself hell, wide, 
great and profound, with vast flames, a horrible 
abyss. Secondly, the noise of groans, of wails; of 
cries of anguish, of struggling, of blasphemies, from 
those overwhelmed in the tempest * of flames. 
Thirdly, the odor of smoke, of sulphur.”* So 
Sister Maria read on, until Agnes almost felt as if 

* “ Les Exercises Spirituels des Jesuits.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


127 


she did really see, hear and smell these horrible 
things, and began saying to herself the twenty-third 
Psalm, the Beatitudes and any other Scriptures she 
knew, to keep her mind off the “ Exercises.” 

Besides the reading and the work, were the stated 
hours of worship in the rude, dim chapel — at six 
o’clock, at midnight, at daylight and at ten o’clock. 
Friday was observed with much more severity in 
this House Without a Name than in the convent 
which Agnes had just left, or at Father Murphy’s. 
At the Immaculate Heart of Mary, Friday’s fast 
brought fish, eggs, buttered toast, fruit and cream 
and confections. Father Murphy fasted right royally 
on turtle soup, lobster salad, Delaware shad and 
whipt cream. In the House Without a Name they 
had a small allowance of bread and water after 
matins, and nothing more until after vespers, wdien 
they had w T ater gruel and a crust of brown bread. 
In all these rigors Agnes must take part. She was 
roused at midnight to stumble down stairs by Sister 
Clement’s side, and kneel dozing and shivering in 
the chapel. 

“We want to show you,” said Sister Clement, 
“that our religion is more than a name, and that 
we think the salvation of the soul worth a sacrifice.” 

“Christ was once offered a sacrifice t;c take aw#y 
sin,” said Agnes. 


128 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ To take away sin needs many sacrifices,” replied 
Sister Clement. 

Slipping away for a few moments from the silent 
embroiderers in the parlor, Agnes one afternoon wan- 
lered about the dismal house and into the still more 
dismal chapel. There was Ignatia, haggard, wild- 
eyed, barefooted, beating her breast and praying, 
bowed upon the floor. The evident misery, the 
fierce, ill-repressed excitement of the Superior had 
filled Agnes Anthon with a curious interest. She 
felt that Ignatia's heart w^as bleeding from a thou 
sand wounds. She knew that she was tortured 
almost to insanity. When she found her there, 
praying huskily and groaning wearily, she felt as 
if the “ Exercise of the Realization of Hell” were 
before her, and she stayed her steps and bent hei 
head. When Ignatia's prayer was ended, as she 
was passing from the chapel to another of her pen- 
ances — the dressing of loathsome sores for some 
paupers who came to her daily— she caught Agnes' 
eye regarding her with compassion, and addressed 
her in a broken voice : “ Take warning, girl ; it is 
thus that sins are expiated and man becomes just 
with God.” 

Agnes thought, as by an inspiration, of a sentence 
from an old, old book. She laid hold of the Supe- 
rior's robe. “ Clement of Rome has said,” she cried, 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


129 


u we are not justified by our wisdom or piety, or the 
work we have done in holiness of heart, but by 
faith.” 

“ Tempt me not, child,” said the infatuated nun, 
“ lest you and I sink together into endless fire.” 

Sister Clement had been ordered by Father Mur- 
phy to leave her place of service and report to him. 
She accordingly presented herself before him. 

“ You have left your place without exciting sus- 
picion?” asked the very reverend Father. 

“ I quarreled with the cook and would not remain 
any longer in the house with her,” said Clement, with 
a covert smile. 

“ You obtained a recommendation?” 

“A most excellent one,” replied Sister Clement, 
producing a document wherein the qualifications of 
the invaluable maid-servant Annette were set forth. 

“We need more work of this kind,” said Father 
Murphy ; “ and as we have found by many trials 
that Sister Maria is a staunch daughter of the 
Cl lurch and fit to be trusted, you can instruct her 
in various things necessary for her to understand, and 
transfer to her this recommendation. She will first 
obtain a situation as nurse-maid. In a few days the 
Superior of the Convent of the Immaculate Heart 
will indicate the proper place.” 

Sister Clement now returned to the House, and ol>- 
i 


130 


PRIEST AND NUN 


tained permission for Sister Maria and herself to 
work at their embroidery in her own little room. 

We do not mean to suggest a pleasant hour of work 
and gossip, such as two country girls might enjoy 
before milking-time; nor such gentle comparing of 
domestic notes as two good housewives engage in 
while sewing for Tom, Dick or Harry; neither 
school-girls’ happy chit-chat, nor holy converse of 
two gospel-workers. Between these two lay the 
carping jealousies, the smothered rivalry, the petty 
spites that are inseparable from convent life. 

Sister Clement was to instruct her inferior, and she 
made Sister Maria feel this fully. Sister Clemerl 
was w r ell up the ladder of promotion. Before her lay 
the possibilities of a Superior’s place and of a mission 
to Rome. In these things she craftily triumphed 
over Sister Maria. She took her up sharply, and in 
many ways manifested that she looked upon her with 
contempt. Of course, Sister Maria felt this, and 
while meekly learning, as in duty bound, she felt 
how delightful were sewing if her needle pricked in 
and out of dear Sister Clement instead of the canvas. 

“ I began by being a nurse-maid,” said Sister 
Clement, “ wdiich is given to beginners as the easiest 
place. One must not be very devout, and one must 
be very respectful. I have done many things for 
my mistresses that no other servant would : it p*vs 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


131 


to flatter the pride of heretics. Among other things 
I have baptized their children/’ she added, with a 
sneer, “ which was certainly a great favor. I have 
lived in three houses as nurse-maid, and have bap- 
tized, or had baptized, ten young children. Seven of 
these children I baptized myself — three I took to the 
cathedral. They are all on Father Murphy’s rolls. 
Have you learned the formula of lay baptism ?” 

No ; Sister Maria had not. 

“ I will instruct you at once,” said Sister Clement. 
“ This prayer-book is the infant ; here is the water ; 
attend.” She rapidly made the sign of the cross over 
the water, dipped up a little in her hand and flung 
it over the book, muttering : “ I baptize thee in the 
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost.” Then, wiping the water from the book with 
aer apron, she added : “ I generally sign the cross on 
the cliild, and say an ‘ ave ’ at each point. Now, see 
if you can do it.” 

She handed over the book and the water, and Sis- 
ter Maria performed the ceremony of baptism very 
creditably. Sister Clement continued her instructions : 

“ You must take special care that no one sees you. 
Of all things you must not be suspected to be other 
than a very humble, honest servant-girl. I have 
noticed that Sisters in disguise are the most highly 
prized of all servants. Once a child’s grandmother 


132 


PRIEST ASD NUX . 


saw me baptizing it. I do hate grandmothers ; they 
are so sharp-eyed and for ever suspecting. She asked 
me what I was doing, and I told her that I was say- 
ing a charm I had learned in the old country, to keep 
the babe from being cross-eyed or a stammerer. One 
of the best qualifications of a Jesuit Sister is to lie 
well and quickly.” 

“ I can do that,” said Maria, meekly. 

“ I know you can,” snapped Sister Clement ; “ ] 
believe you have often lied to your confessor.” 

“ What is to become of the baptized children after 
one leaves them and goes elsewhere?” asked Maria. 

“ Why, you fool,” said the amiable Clement, “ don’t 
you know that they belong to the Church, and it is 
the priest’s business to look after them? He sends 
a good, stiff Catholic girl after the place with a first- 
class recommendation, and there it is. Saint Cecelia 

4 

at the ‘ Heart’ has written five hundred recommenda- 
tions, I dare say. In many places people let the 
nurse take the children to church, and always the 
nurse can take them walking and riding, and that 
goes a long way if one knows how to use oppor- 
tunities.” 

“ And what becomes of them in the end ?” ven- 
tured Maria. 

“ You act as if you did not know our Church was 
looking forward to a day of power, when she caii 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


13 * 


claim her own. I believe you’re too great an idiot 
to work this way.” 

“ I’ll get ahead of you/’ hissed Maria. 

“ Well,” said Sister Clement, smoothing her ruffled 
feelings, “ stick to these three things — lying, humility 
and quickness to seize opportunity — and you may be 
able to do a little of what I have done.” 

It was the hour for the daily reading of “ Exer- 
cises,” and these gentle Sisters went down stairs. 
But just then arose a great commotion. Sister 
Magdalena had found Mother Ignatia lying on the 
chapel floor, apparently in a dying condition. She 
was carried to her room, or, more properly, cell, and 
laid on her pallet, while Father Murphy was sent for, 
to speed, with extreme unction and prayer, the part- 
ing soul. 

While waiting for the Father’s coming, the Sisters 
occupied themselves in various ways. Sister Clement 
with all propriety stood by her dying Superior, her 
face calm r peaceful in the assurance that the hour of 
her promotion :^as nigh at hand. 

Agnes, who was not suffered to go out of sight, 
stood shivering before the presence of death in all 
his terrors. It was the Friday fast, but the two Sis- 
ters who served the kitchen availed themselves of the 
opportunity of making a full meal three hours earlier 
than the usual eating was allowed, while Sister Mag- 
12 


134 


PRIEST AND NUN 


dalena surreptitiously helped herself to some of her 
own wine and jelly. 

At last Father Murphy arrived and stood by Ig- 
natia’s side. A quivering of throat and eyelids, and 
a short, spasmodic gasp at intervals, alone spoke of life, 

“She is dying, Father; pray you administer the 
sacrament of extreme unction quickly/’ said Saint 
Clement. 

Father Murphy had the holy oil in his pocket, but 
he bent over the patient, felt her pulse and touched 
her fleshless cheek. 

“It’s a clear case of starvation and exhaustion,” 
he said. “ What a dolt the woman is !” Then 
shouted in his stentorian voice, “ Magdalena, bring 
me some wine; Joanna, get some beef-tea. She 
needs food more than anointing. Bring me a chair; 
and by Holy Mary, I’ll perform a miracle and bring 
the dead to life,” he added with a jolly wink, yet 
sitting down on the chair gingerly, as if fearing it 
would prove treacherous beneath his weight. 

' “Oh, Father, disturb her not; let her die in the 
odor of sanctity,” suggested the disinterested Sister 
Clement. 

“Not I, while the Church needs her,” said Father 
Murphy. “ Get me a spoon, daughter Clement : your 
turn will come some day ; you will have her flhoes 
after a while; but, bless me! I believe the erea' ure’s 


PRIEST AND NUN 


135 


been going barefoot ! That is Douay’s work,” he 
added under his breath, and as wine and spoon were 
ready, he forced the stimulant between the nun’s blue 
lips. “ Hurry that Joanna in the kitchen,” he or- 
dered, “ and bring some brandy to rub this woman’s 
feet and hands. Rub one of her hands, Agnes,” lie 
added to the girl near him ; “you can have no bettei 
office than to wait on so good a Catholic.” 

Ignatia’s mattress and pillow were of straw with- 
out sheets or pillow-case. The Father had been feed- 
ing his patient with modicums of wine and brandy, 
while the Sisters rubbed her feet, hands and head. 
F'ather Murphy bent over to notice the motion of 
Ignatia’s throat, that he might judge better of the 
effect of his remedies. So doing, he lifted a little 
from his chair and moved the serge dress from her 
neck, which disclosed the fact that the poor, emaciated 
creature was dressed underneath her nun’s robe in a 
horrible, rasping hair-cloth. The sight so shocked 
the worldly and jolly priest that he dropped himself 
heavily back, when his treacherous chair gave w'ay 
beneath his ponderous person, and he went crashing 
to the floor, jarring the whole house. The Sisters 
crowded about their prostrate chief. The reverend 
Father speedily recovered himself, took a glass of 
brandy to settle his nerves, and ordered the inmates 
of the House to remove the sick woman’s hair-cloth. 


136 


PRIEST AND NUN 


put on proper garments, lay her on a soft and com- 
fortable bed, and continue to administer wine- and 
beef-tea until he came again. In a few days, Ignatia 
was able to sit up. Father Murphy then put the 
House in the temporary charge of Sister Clement, 
sent Sister Maria under the name and in the clothing 
of Annette to her place as nurse-maid, and informed 
Ignatia that she was for the present to be put in the 
hospital ward of the Convent of the Immaculate 
Heart of Mary, and given as an invalid into the 
charge of Mother Robart. 

At this juncture, Saint Cecelia arrived, saying that 
Agnes A nth on’s aunt had returned home and was 
ready to receive her niece. Agnes was therefore pre- 
sented with a crucifix, a rosary, a Missal and a Book 
of Exercises, received the paternal benediction of 
Father Murphy, and with Saint Cecelia and Mother 
Ignatia was put into Michael Shinn’s carriage, 
driven by John Mora, and by many devious and 
rapid turns taken back to the Convent of the Im- 
maculate Heart. 

Agnes knew that she had been somewhere in the 
city, but street, number or direction she could not tell. 

Mother Robart received her banished pupil with 
dignified tenderness. She was rejoiced to hear sc 
good an account of her, trusted that her whole life 
would reap the benefit of the last two weeks, should 


PRIEST AND NUN 


137 


ever be glad to see her, anct with a gracious kiss and 
blessing Agnes was consigned to Saint Cecelia to be 
taken to her aunt. 

Behold now Mother Robart and her invalid charge 
Ignatia ! Mother Hobart living a lie and knowing 
it, yet staying her soul on the thought that her 
eternal chance was as good as that of millions who, 
through hundreds of years, have crowded the gates 
and ministered at the altars of Rome. Did she go 
down to perdition, she would go with a goodly train 
of popes and cardinals, and right reverend and very 
reverend and reverend clergy. Mother Robart knew 
one all-absorbing passion — ambition — the love of 
power; and this Rome gratified. She stood in the 
stately Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, 
Sisters and servitors and pupils at her back, herself 
croud, flush with life and ease, admired and self- 
satisfied, ready to cry with Nebuchadnezzar, “ Is not 
this great Babylon, which I have built for the house 
of the kingdom, by the might of my power and the 
honor of my majesty?” 

And Ignatia, a bruised reed that Rome would ut- 
terly break, smoking flax which priestcraft would 
quench, starved and wounded body, starved and 
wounded spirit, believing entirely, yet wrecked by 
believing, a lie — still in bitterness of soul crying 

only, “ Mea culpa ! mea culpa !” 

12 * 


CHAPTER VI. 


CONFIRM A TION OF THE CHILDREN. 

Cl LADDIN rubbed his lamp and summoned the 
LI genii. Father Murphy could with equal ease 
* summon his helpers. He had thus called before 
him a sturdy pair — John Mora and Michael Shinn. 
Michael, as the richer man of the two, had ventured 
to balance himself on the corner of a chair, but his 
hesitation about so great a privilege as this so worked 
upon him that he was in instant danger of toppling 
‘over. John Mora held his felt hat uneasily before 
him, looking into it anxiously. With all these symp- 
toms of a severe attack of reverence, Father Murphy 
was of course well pleased. He was established in 
his favorite chair, and he put first one foot on an 
ottoman and regarded it complacently, and then 
served the other in the same manner. He was not 
in too great haste to speak, thinking it better to 
allow the men to be fully impressed with the magnifi- 
cence of his surroundings. 

The children of our Father of Rome attending the 

138 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


139 


Cathedral of Saint Joseph the Just had just finished 
the devotion of the “ Forty Hours.” Father Murphy 
had entertained the Bishop in excellent style, and, 
having found it his duty to maintain the inner and 
outer man by various good dinners and suppers, was 
none the worse for the extra exertions he had been 
supposed to make. John Mora and Michael Shinn 
had found the “ Forty Hours” a very different matter. 
They had fasted, had humbly approached the tribunal 
of penance, had heard, without understanding, the ser- 
mons, had listened to the fine music without appre- 
ciating it. They were very glad the “ Forty Hours 
were over, but were sure they must be a deal better 
for it. 

“John Mora and Michael Shinn,” said the sonor- 
ous voice of the reverend Father, “ I have sent for 
you to show you how you may be yet more useful and 
worthy children of the Church. I trust you are ready 
to be all obedience and to take upon you whatever 
duties are set before you ?” 

“ Yes, your honor’s reverence,” said the two men. 

“ The Church, as I have often told you,” said 
Father Murphy, stretching himself back in his chair 
and assuming the tone and air of one about to give a 
lecture on political economy, “is a temporal as w T ell 
as a spiritual kingdom. She claims to be mother 
and queen of nations. To uphold and extend he* 


140 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


lawful temporal power, she needs strong muscles, 
keen wits and obedient hearts ; and these she wants 
not in a helter-skelter mob, but in a regularly organ- 
ized and well-trained body.” 

“ And how many will it be, your reverence ?” asked 
Michael Shinn. 

“ How many, my man ? They will be counted by 
hundreds of thousands, here and over the sea.” 

“ And is it just started, your honor ?” 

“ No, Michael, the Church works slowly. This 
was ordered years ago. In silence and in patience 
our Church has laid her plans. She takes into this 
army of her faithful only the strongest and most 
zealous of her sons. One by one the reverend Fathers 
have picked out these men for years, and have sworn 
them into this organization. It is like a worm, from 
every severed part of which a new head will grow, 
and which destroying only increases. It is like a 
root which sends out a new plant every time it is 
divided, so that cutting it smaller only makes it 
larger. I defy this nation, I defy England, to 
search it out and crush it now !” 

This was our reverend’s priest’s hobby ; and speak- 
ing, his theme had grown upon him, until he rose 
from his seat and harangued his two men as if they 
had been a council. His enthusiasm was infectious. 

“There’s my hand on it!” cried John Mora, “as 


PRIES 1 AND NUN 


141 


will be proud to shed its last drop of blood in the 
holy cause, and carry musket or a shillalah as the 
Church may bid me 1” 

“ And what may tht name of the ‘ band* be ?” 
asked Michael Shinn. 

“The Fenians ,” said Father Murphy, deliberately. 

“The Fenians is it?” cried John Mora, astounded : 
“sure it was only last week that Father Guire re- 
fused to confess a friend of mine for belonging to the 
Fenians, and troth I’ve been afraid to speak to the 
c ellow since.” 

“/confessed him, so you need be afraid of mm no 
longer. I’ll give you a card with the time and place 
of meeting on it, and you’ll find friends there and an 
officer ready to swear you in. As to Father Guire and 
the Fenians, let me tell you that there are some few 
priests who are kept in ignorance of these things, 
and there are many who must act as if they disap- 
proved it. My men, the Church must seem to be on 
the fence about Fenianism. If, by any ill-luck, it 
falls into disgrace for a while, the Church must ap- 
pear to have always condemned it. If it goes on 
prosperously, as Saint James permit, the Church can 
openly own it by and by. There’s the Vicar-General 
at Chicago is a Fenian out and out,* while there's a 

* This was before the Vicar-General died and was escorted to 
\iis grave by a body of armed Fenians . 


142 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


priest in Buffalo who the other day refused to let 
a Fenian be buried in consecrated ground.” 

“ Troth, what did the poor creature do?” asked 
John Mora. 

“His body was privately conveyed to another 
Catholic burying-ground. Never fear, John — the 
Church will uphold the Fenians. The Pope will 
give each one an indulgence and absolution.” 

“And, your honor’s reverence, suppose the law 
takes them up and handles them ?” 

“I should think you had seen, John, that the 
Church here is strong enough to clear any of her 
children before a jury if she once undertakes it. The 
Church works so that either the lawyers or the wit- 
nesses or the jury or the judge shall turn the verdict 
right for the faithful.” * 

“ And, your reverence,” said Michael Shinn, 
“ might I be bold to say, men will be a poor mob 
unless they’re armed ; and where are the arms ?” 

“ I see you take hold of it right, Michael,” said 
Father Murphy: “let me tell you that there are 
magazines all over the country that are getting filled 
up ; | and it is a good idea, my men, to make Protest - 

* Witness the method of trial and its results in the case of Mary 
Ann Smith, abducted by Romanists from Newark, N. J. 

f 20,000 rifles have been distributed among Fenians in th« 
United States . — Cincinnati Gazette. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


143 


ants pay for these arms by bringing them out to 
charity fairs and concerts , eh ?” and Father Murphy 
thrust his hands into his pockets and chuckled. He 
was a very dangerous fellow, this fat priest. 

Now, as these two sons of Popery went homeward, 
or rather stableward, they passed a spacious building 
belonging to a Protestant religious society. Says 
John to Michael, “ We may have that one day for a 
nunnery, eh ?” 

“We may that,” says Michael, unctuously, “and 
yon’s a grand house I may have for my own when 
the rise comes ?” 

“ Troth, you may ; and there’s a brown stone house 
that Protestant dom miny lives in, it would make a 
very conmnient place for the old woman and me 
cvaildher. Ha, ha!” replied John Mora. 

Perhaps these two men were getting on faster than 
the reverend Father they had just left. 

Of course, Father Murphy did not spend nearly all 
his time with Shinn & Co. or the Fenians. He looked 
after his flock with all vigilance. He was one day 
“ going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and 
down in it,” when he went into Mr. Kemp’s, and, as 
!she lady of the house was absent, he ordered Grace 
and Adelaide to be sent down to the parlor to receive 
his counsels. 

He questioned them closely as to their observance 


144 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


of fasts and prayers. For, although Father Murphy 
privately considered that himself had outgrown these 
things, he regarded them as admirable screws where- 
with to keep the laity in working order. After these 
matters, he spoke of their friendships. 

“ I hope my daughters do not associate with Agnes 
Anthon. Mother Hobart tells me she is a very 
naughty girl.” 

“She has gone away to boarding-school, so we 
could not see her if w T e wanted to,” said Grace ; “ but, 
Father, she is a splendid girl — she is so smart. She 
only acted so at school for fun. She may come to the 
true Church yet.* 

“ Perhaps she may,” said the priest, dryly, “ but 
until she does you had better not make a friend of 
her. Do you get letters from her ?” he asked, quickly. 

Grace seemed busy looking into the street, but 
Adelaide replied, “No, of course we do not.” 

“ All your correspondence you should, like dutifui 
children, take to be inspected by Mother Hobart.” 

“ Why not to mother here at home ?” asked Grace. 

“ Certainly show it to her too, but to Mother Hobart 
especially, as she is your spiritual mother set over you 
by the holy Church.” 

(We see that, in a Jesuit’s view, a mother the 
Church gives should be much nearer than one whom 
God gives.) 



Priest Murphy burning “ Bunyan ” and u Milton. ” 

Page 146. 















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PRIEST AND NUN. 


145 


Oh, well,”, said Adelaide, “ there’s no use talk- 
ing ; we never get any letters and are too lazy to write 
any.” 

“ And what do you have to read ? Do you borrow 
any books?” 

“ I borrowed a lot of fairy stories, and then I got 
Mrs. Soutliworth’s novels,” said Adelaide. 

“ They will not hurt you,” said Father Murphy, 
smiling. 

“ I got Milton’s ‘ Paradise Lost,’ ” said Grace. “ I 
don’t like novels.” 

“ Milton!” cried Father Murphy ; “go and bring 
it to me ! It is an indecent, false and shameful book. 
To read it is quite enough to ruin you. Get me the 
book, and I will see it returned.” 

While Grace was getting the book, the keen eyes 
of the Father, searching the room, saw the corner of 
some volume which was thrust under the sofa pillow. 
He drew it forth to Adelaide’s horror, and, dreadful 
to relate, it was a copy of Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Pro- 
gress — an elegant edition, with colored pictures. 
The first picture that caught the reverend Father’s 
eye represented “ Lord Hategood,” strikingly gotten 
up as our Father of Rome in full pontifical array.* 

Father Murphy shook the book, trembled, stamped, 
quivered and choked with rage. Adelaide fled to 

* See Bunyan’s Progress, London edition of Fred. Warne & Co. 

13 E 


146 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


the farthest part of the room, and Grace, returning 
with the copy of Milton, tarried on the door-sill, 
tears on her cheeks, anger in her eyes, ready either 
to fight or fly. 

“ Where did you get this vile, filthy, heretical 
book ?” he demanded when able to articulate. 

“ From Annie Mott,” faltered Grace. 

“From a miserable little heretic!” cried the holy 
Father. “ If ever you visit her, speak or bow to her 
again, you shall be shut up in a cell at the Immacu- 
late Heart and kept on bread and water.” 

“ I didn’t know it was any harm,” sobbed Grace. 
“ I thought it was a pretty book, and there’s one at 
the convent, only it isn’t as pretty as this.” 

“Yes, there’s a Catholic edition there, fit for read- 
ing ; but this is a garbled heretical lie, and so I fling 
it in the fire; and in like manner may he that wrote 
it and he that sold it go to perdition !” He flung the 
book into the grate, and as it curled on the glowing 
coals, he seized the Paradise Lost from Grace, and 
seeing Annie Mott’s name in it, he cast it also into 
the fire. Both the girls were crying bitterly. The 
priest’s wrath cooled a little : “ Will you promise to 
have no more to do with Annie Mott ?” 

“ Yes,” gasped Grace. 

“ And will you submit all your reading to Mother 
Robart’s inspection ?” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


147 


“ Yes, sir,” said Adelaide. 

Father Murphy now prescribed for Grace a day’s 
fasting, a certain number of prayers and the forfeit- 
ure of her month’s allowance of pocket-money to the 
convent charity fund ; and most likely would have 
gone on with his rebukes and penances, had he not 
seen the doctor’s carriage at Judge Schuyler’s door. 

“ What is the matter there ?” he demanded. 

“Uncle Schuyler had an apoplectic fit this noon,” 
said Adelaide ; “ there is where mother is.” 

Here was a very valuable sheep in danger; so 
Father Murphy gave the girls his paternal bene- 
diction and went over the way. 

Left alone, the girls cried until their excitement 
wore off Then Grace said, 

“Addie, what two big stories you told Father 
Murphy ! You said we did not hear from Agnes, 
when we do ; and that we get and write no letters, 
when we do.” 

“ It is none of his business,” said Adelaide, “ and 
1 sha’n’t show my letters to Mother Hobart.” 

“ But it is shameful to tell lies,” said Grace. 

“No; Father Murphy has told me at confession 
that lies are right sometimes, and if they’re right 
sometimes., they’re right always. Anyhow, I like to 
tell them ; they’re convenient,” said Adelaide. “ As 
to those books, we’ll tell Rick, and make him buj 


148 


PRIEST AND NUN 


Annie some new ones just like them, and take them 
to her.” 

Adelaide did this, and also got Rick to get two new 
copies, which she gave Grace, saying, “ They are a 
birth-day present for you, cherie ; keep them secret. 
It is so delicious to do things secretly, I think !” 
You see how Adelaide was bearing the legitimate 
fruits of Romish teachings. 

Thinking he had been rather hasty with the girls. 
Father Murphy returned next day to talk with them 
more reasonably, and, of course, found them docile. 

“ May I read the Bible ?” asked Grace in conver- 
sation. 

“ Certainly not. Do you not know that it is 
forbidden ?” 

“ I thought it was,” said Grace, “ but I read in 
one of our Catholic papers that that is a heretic 
scandal, and that the Bible is allowed.* It said that 
‘ the Church is anxious that the Bible should be cir- 
culated/ ” 

“ That was written for the eyes of Protestants, and 
not for children of the Church,” said Father Mur- 
phy, blandly. 

“ Say what you don’t mean ?” asked Grace, stretch- 
ing open her eyes. 

* Since this the Archbishop of Baltimore has written a tissua 
of contradictions on this subject, published in the Catholic Standard 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


149 


“Yes, if by that means we may win some to ex- 
amine and receive the doctrines of the Holy Church, 
and be converted.” 

“ And what does the Church really say about the 
Bible ?” asked Grace. 

“ The Council of Trent says,” replied Fathei 
Murphy, “that if the Bible is given to the people, 
there will result more trouble than advantage. No 
person can read the Bible without a written permit 
from the Bishop. No person who shall dare secretly 
read the Bible can receive absolution for his sins, and 
he w’ho sells a Bible must be punished Ijy fines and 
other penances, according as the Bishop shall judge 
of the quality of his crime . Lastly, priests them- 
selves can neither read nor buy a Bible without 
the permission of their superiors.” (Council of 
Trent, quoted by Monod.) 

All this wisdom, of course, satisfied Grace; and 
the reverend Father was quite right in his deliver- 
ances, taking them from the “ Regular Proceedings 
of the Council of Trent,” which we hope he was 
scholar enough to read in the original Latin. 

Meanwhile, Mother Ignatia was somewhat re- 
cruited at the Convent of the Immaculate Heart, 
though her vexed spirit found nothing congenial 
among those easy-going nuns. One melancholy face 
had moved her for a while to hope for a kindred 


150 


PRIEST ANI) SUN. 


soul. It was the face of the little pervert froru 
Missouri. But Mother Ignatia was informed that 
the steadfastness of this nun was more than sus- 
pected ; that she was never allowed to go into the 
street ; that vigilant watch was kept over her night 
and day, and that she was not even trusted to go into 
the garden or to sleep alone. 

Father Murphy now allowed Ignatia to resume the 
charge of the House Without a Name. Sister Clem- 
ent must resign her briefly-held power. There was 
other work for her. 

Judge Sfehuyler had been much shattered by his 
attack of apoplexy. Another might hurry him out 
of the world, and the Church must be ready for this 
event. Mother Hobart told Lilly that it was very 
wrong for her to keep a Protestant maid when so 
many Catholic girls were needing good places. Lilly, 
acting under instructions, informed her mother that 
she could no longer be waited upon by Hannah. 

“ But, my daughter, Hannah is a faithful servant 
who does not merit dismissal. She is the maid I 
have chosen for you, and I must be mistress of my 
own house and keep such girls as I choose.” 

“ It is my duty to have a maid of my own religion,” 
faltered Lilly, still obeying orders received at the 
convent. 

“ It is your duty to obey your mother, and not 


PRIEST AND NUR. 


151 


give her any trouble about the domestics/’ said Mrs. 
Schuyler. 

“ Dear mamma, do not hurt my conscience/’ cried 
Lilly ; “ do, please do, let me get another maid who 
shall be a Catholic !” 

“Do not hurt my feelings, Lilly, by being thus 
ruled by strangers in every particular,” said Mrs. 
Schuyler. 

Further instructed, poor Lilly refused to be dressed 
by Hannah, wept continually, made her hair look 
very dreadfully in trying to arrange it herself, and con- 
stantly entreated “ dear mamma” to let her do what 
was right ; and yet the poor little soul was half heart- 
broken all the time by being forced thus to distress 
her mother. 

Weak Mrs. Schuyler, yielding at last to husband 
and child, took Hannah as a seamstress for herself, 
though she did not need her, and Lilly was at liberty 
to get a maid recommended by Mother Robart. 
Mother Robart recommended “Annette,” who re- 
sumed the “character” Sister Maria had been using, 
and was duly established at Judge Schuyler’s. She 
was to act as a spy on the mistress of the house, to 
watch over the judge’s symptoms, and to be a spiritual 
bellows to fan the fires of Lilly’s devotion. She was 
also to drive off Hannah if possible. But this she 
could not do. Hannah loved her mistress with 


152 


PRIEST AND NUN 


almost filial tenderness. Lilly became perfectly in- 
fatuated with her new maid. In her last place at 
service, Annette had found it necessary to simulate 
great vanity and lightness of demeanor : now her rfile 
was humility and devotion. As she dressed Lilly’s 
hair she told her long legends of the saints, and 
would also relate what she called her own experi- 
ences, wherein devout Catholics had won over many 
of their friends and relatives. She had much to say 
rf revelations, “made to her certain knowledge,” 
where Our Lady, or Joseph the Just, or one of the 
long catalogue of saints, had supernaturally appeared 
to strengthen and console the faithful. The especial 
point Sister Clement had been instructed to make 
with Lilly was on her receiving the communion and 
being confirmed. This she did persistently and art- 
fully, never dropping her character of the humble 
waiting-maid for one moment, but by every trifling 
circumstance bringing these points up in their “ proper 
light.” 

And now the winter was passing away, and the 
first day of Lent this year fell on Lilly’s birth-day. 
Mrs. Schuyler had intended to celebrate the day by 
some pleasant festival, but Lilly utterly refused this, 
her mind in fact being in a fearful excitement about 
being confirmed in the cathedral just after Easter, in 
direct opposition to her mother’s commands — a step 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


153 


which she knew would make that dear patient mother 
entirely wretched, yet which Father Murphy and the 
nuns assured her she must at once take, after too long 
delay. Each month was dividing farther and farther 
asunder this mother and her only child, and putting 
Lilly still more and more under priestly domination. 
But a higher Power had ordered the events of that 
birth-day. Lilly came home from the service at the 
Cathedral of St. Joseph the Just to find her father at 
the point of death, stricken by another fit of his dis- 
ease. Before night J udge Schuyler was dead. F athers; 
Murphy and Douay had stood over his insensible 
form as the spirit was departing, administering ex- 
treme unction and repeating the “ offices” and prayers 
of the Church for the dying. When the scene was 
over, and only dead clay remained of the husband 
and parent, Annette conveyed the almost distracted 
Lilly to her apartment. Mrs. Schuyler being, as we 
have frequently stated, a weak woman, her distress 
overpowered her, and as fainting succeeded fainting, 
Hannah and the physician watched anxiously at her 
bedside until daybreak. 

Meanwhile, priests and nuns, with Mrs. Kemp, 
presided in the chamber of death. The body of 
Judge Schuyler was suitably laid out, a crucifix 
upon his breast, holy water at his head, a prayer- 
book laid open at his feet, w^ax tapers burning about 


154 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


him with a sickly radiance in the growing lignt of 
• dawn. 

Poor Lilly, taken to her room, flung herself sob- 
bing on the floor, refusing to be comforted. The in- 
valuable Annette stood over her, wringing her hands 
and crying, 

“Oh, miss; oh, my sweet miss ; your father is dead ; 
on your birth-day too ! Oh, my dear miss, why did 
you not get confirmed, as they bid you? Here is a 
judgment on you, my dear miss. The saints and 
the Virgin are angry. Oh, I vow to them a fast on 
bread and water, and one hundred ‘aves/ if their 
anger will cease.” 

“What shall I do? what shall I do?” shrieked 
Lilly. 

“ Oh, miss, make vows to them,” cried Annette, 
dropping on her knees and rattling over “ aves” in 
the pauses of her exhortations. “ Vow to them to do 
your duty. Vow that you will keep this holy Lent 
with all your heart — that you will be confirmed and 
live a true daughter of the Church. Vow a gift to 
the convent. Vow a gift to the altar at Saint 
Joseph’s. Oh, my dear miss, much I fear, if you do 
not, the angels will take away that blessed lady your 
mother,” whom Sister Clement, alias Annette, cor- 
dially hated. 

Need we doubt that Lilly made, in full faith and 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


155 


earnestness, any number of vows? A little composed 
by these, she desired to go to her mother. All her 
grief and remorse 'were reawakened at seeing her 
mother’s pale face, swollen eyelids and disheveled 
hair. She flung herself on the bed beside her, clasped 
her arms about her neck, and covering her mother’s 
face with kisses, sobbed out, “ Mother, oh, mother, it 
is my fault, I know it is ; it is a judgment on your 
wicked Lilly that has brought so much trouble to 
you. Darling mother, forgive me !” 

“ Forgive you , Lilly!” cried Mrs. Schuyler; “my 
precious child, you are my only comfort.” 

Unhappy mother! unhappy child ! born to be that 
mother’s bitterest woe ! 

The judge was buried with all magnificence. He 
had not openly united with the True Church, but 
Father Murphy said he had done so privately ; at all 
events, he had given, to that Church’s aid, upheld 
her institutions, placed his child in her hands, and 
plainly expressed his faith in her unity, purity and 
infallibility. His body was laid in consecrated 
ground ; masses were said and sung for his soul ; he 
was blessed and lauded and held up as an example, 
and Michael Shinn at that grand funeral reaped 
heavy profits from being a son of the True Church 
and obedient to the reverend Fathers. 

And now we could have wished that, in the pri- 


156 


PRIEST AND NUN 


vacy of their grief, left to each other’s love for solace, 
Lilly and her mother could have grown more closely 
together, and the child could have given her parent 
her entire confidence. But no ; this the holy 
Mothers Rome and Robart could not permit. To 
the weeping widow could not be left the comfort of 
her child. Lilly was reminded of her vows — was 
told that she must go to the convent, and there re- 
main for proper religious exercises and instructions 
until she had taken her communion and received 
confirmation at the hands of the Archbishop. Now, 
Mothers Rome and Robart could not have forced 
Lilly from her home and mother against the will of 
every one; but, crudest sting of all, the child was 
brought to insist upon thus doing. It was set before 
her as a religious duty to leave her only parent alone 
in agony of spirit ; and she was persuaded to demand 
it as her right and privilege thus to leave her mother 
in her grief — herself to go elsewhere for the good of 
her soul, and to prepare to disobey that mother’s ex- 
press commands. Oh cruel blow upon a heart 
already so sorely wounded ! 

To the convent went Lilly to* remain six weeks, 
and to attend to such prayers, rites and reading a* 
Mother Robart should ordain. 

There was a week’s school vacation during this 
Lent, «nd as Grace and Adelaide were now fully re- 


PRIEST AND NUN 


157 


stored to Father Murphy’s favor — Grace by absolute 
obedience, and Adelaide by cunning deceit, in which 
she very naturally delighted — Estelle Wynford was 
permitted to go to their house for a three days’ visit, 
Mother Robart considering that, as the Kemps were 
of the faithful, a visit to them could do Estelle no 
harm, Richard being absent from home. 

Mrs. Kemp, kind and friendly to everybody, and 
also intent on doing service to her Church, was 
naturally very attentive to her sister-in-law, Mrs. 
Schuyler, and spent much time with her. She was 
passing an evening with Mrs. Schuyler during Es- 
telle’s visit to Grace and Adelaide. The three girls, 
left to themselves in the parlor, began to amuse 
themselves with ghost stories, growing more and 
more extravagant in their narrations, until they had 
themselves fairly frightened— for all they were ma- 
ture damsels of fifteen — and began to suspect super- 
natural influences in every wavering shadow or creak- 
ing door or window. “Oh,” cried Adelaide, half 
earnest, half jesting, “ I’m going to make Lucy come 
and sit in the hall near the register, for I’m dread- 
fully afraid.” She ran off and ordered Lucy to her 
new’ post. Lucy came, but not alone. Annette had 
very justly decided that living as a spy at Mrs. 
Schuyler’s did not prevent her exercising some sur- 
veillance at Mr. Kenjp’s. She had therefore gotten 

14 


158 


PRIEST AND NU*. 


up an intimacy with Lucy, and was spending the 
evening with her. Adelaide bade Annette come and 
sit with Lucy in the hall, and the two maids having 
taken their places, Adelaide left the drawing-room 
door ajar, and putting her charming face at the crack, 
cried, “ Now, girls, don’t go away for your lives, foi 
we are awfully afraid of ghosts.” 

The thread of ghostly narratives had been broken 
by Adelaide’s short absence. “ Let us talk of some- 
thing else,” said Estelle; “I’m tired of ghost 
stories.” 

“ Let us tell our histories,” said Grace. 

“ Oh yes,” exclaimed Adelaide ; “ we will each 1 * 
our own heroine.” 

“Sh-h-h,” whispered Annette to Lucy in the 
hall; “let us hear the stories the young ladies are 
telling.” 

We all know about what Grace and Adelaide could 
tell ; it is Estelle’s story that will interest us most, 
as indeed it did Annette, sitting in the hall by the 
register. 

“ My mother,” said Estelle, “ was my father’s 
second wife. When his first wife died he went to 
Italy to distract his mind from troubles. He left 
Martin, my half-brother, in Scotland with his nurse. 
Martin was just a little baby. In Italy father met 
mamma, who was a widow and quite young. In a 


PRIEST AND NUN 


159 


year they were married, and they traveled about 
until I was born, which was in Paris, you know, and 
then they went to Scotland and got Martin, and we 
all lived together. Mamma loved Martin very 
much, and so did I. We had a governess sometimes; 
gometimes we went to school. Summers we journeyed 
about through England and Wales. We had no 
trouble ; only Martin’s grandfather died, and we did 
not mind that much, because we had never seen him, 
and he left Martin a good deal of money. We were 
happy until I was ten years old, and then mamma 
died, and we traveled about in Europe, and then 
came to this country ; and father has not done travel- 
ing yet. He wants to distract his mind from trouble. 
Mamma left me some money, and her father is a very 
old man in Italy, and when he dies he will leave me 
some more money You see I cannot be expected to 
care much for him, for I never saw him. I cared so 
much for my mamma, and I love my father and 
Martin to adoration.” 

Thus ended Estelle’s tale — all marriage and money. 
Annette’s eyes were fixed, her hands clasped. 

“Wake up, Annette,” wdiispered Lucy ; “are you 
asleep ?” 

“ Nearly,” said Annette, aptly. But her mind was 
in a whirl of triumphant scheming. 

The day for Lilly’s confirmation had come. She 


160 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


was allowed to dress at home for the occasion. An- 
nette, the admirable, was a skillful dressing-maid. 
Saint Cecelia was in attendance to remind Lilly of 
her duties. The girl was dressed in white silk, and 
crowned with a w r reath of lilies-of-the-valley of 
choicest workmanship — spotless white in all her 
attire, her golden hair falling like a halo about hei 
face and shoulders. Poor Lilly ! she was too fair for 
scenes like these. 

“ I must see, mamma,” said Lilly, breaking away 
from nun and maid. She found her mother reclining 
in a large chair in her dressing-room, while Hannah, 
seated at her feet, read to her from the Psalms 
“ Oh, mamma, do speak to me,” said Lilly. 

Mrs. Schuyler took her in her arms : tears rained 
on the little devotee’s upturned face. 

“ My poor, lost, misguided, deluded child !” sobbed 
Mrs. Schuyler. 

* * * * * * * 

Lilly, with many more, was kneeling in the grand 
Cathedral of Saint Joseph the Just. Trembling, she 
listened to the music, the Bishop’s prayer, the moni- 
tions given, and then the Bishop made upon her fore- 
head with chrism the sign of the cross, saying, “ I 
sign thee with the sign of the cross, and I confirm 
thee with the chrism of salvation, in the name of the 
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


161 


He then gave her a little blow on the cheek, saying, 
“ Peace be with you !” 

This she had been taught was to put her in mind 
“ that in confirmation she was strengthened to suffer 
with patience, and even to die with Christ.” 

Lilly had received “the Holy Eucharist.” She 
had been taught, and fully believed, that under every 
fragment of bread and every sip of wine (which ele- 
ment, however, was strictly for priests) was “the 
flesh, blood, soul and divinity of the Lord Jesus, 
wholly there.” * “ Whole under each part.” “ In 

each morsel, wholly indivisible in each form and 
under each part of the form.” She accepted it as 
true that he, “ by the almighty power of God, did 
not leave heaven to come into the host, but was in 
heaven and in every one of the consecrated hosts in 
the world at the same time.” She understood that 
Jesus became “really her nourishment.” Poor, igno- 
rant, earnest, illogical, deceived Lilly ! she could not 
perceive the monstrous absurdity of five hundred 
Christs in the Church at once, ready for the mastica- 
tion of the faithful. She could not see how wild the 
idea that Jesus, obedient to priestly benediction, 
should enter bodily into bread and wine. She 
could not see a hundred other follies, which Rome 
taught her as the very essence of wisdom. Re- 

* See Roman Catholic Catechism for each of these quotations. 

14 * L 


162 


PRIEST AND NUA. 


ceiving the Holy Eucharist at the same time 
were Estelle, Grace and Adelaide. Thus had the 
Holy Moth^ T ‘^*ne nourished and brought up 
children. 


PART SECOND. 


SHOWING THE MANNER OP ROME’S CHILDREN. 

1 The best of them is as a brier ; tke most tiprigkt is sharper 
than a thorn ho ige” — Micah vii. 4. 


163 





CHAPTER I. 


NUN OR NOT . 

f HO UGH Father Murphy had placed full confi- 
dence in that pride of his flock, Judge Schuyler, 
^ he was, after the judge’s death, in no little anxiety 
concerning the Schuyler property and Lilly. Father 
Murphy had often exhorted the judge to make his 
will, but was in ignorance whether his advice had 
been followed. Indeed the judge had experienced 
all his life a dread of death and whatever suggested 
It. If he had died intestate, Father Murphy greatly 
feared that the widow would be allowed more voice 
in settling the estate than would accord with the in- 
terests of Holy Mother Church. While he dared not 
exhibit the concern in this matter that oppressed him, 
Father Murphy hovered about, under pretence of 
sympathy and desire to afford religious consolation, 
seeking for every item of intelligence and every indi- 
cation of the turn affairs were taking. Annette also 
was on the alert — noiseless and swift of step. Were 
gentlemen in the drawing-room, there were flowers, 
nr glasses of water, or needed supplies of coal, or 


166 


PRIEST AND NUN 


(lacking these) adroitly-contrived messages to bring 
Annette thither, tarrying long at the door, entering 
unexpectedly, meek and apparently pre-occupied. 
Often during these tedious days (for never did affairs 
seem to move so slowly) did Annette fly to Fathei 
Murphy with her budget of news. The good Father 
might have spared himself all distress. The will was 
found at last — short, clear, direct, cheering to the 
priest’s heart. One-third of the property went to 
Mrs. Schuyler, the house belonging to this portion. 
The remaining two-thirds were for Lilly, and Father 
Murphy and Mr. Kemp were her guardians. 

Lilly’s doom was sealed. 

Poor Mrs. Schuyler had been completely ignored. 
She had not been deemed a proper guardian for her 
child. Had her husband dreamed of the cruel pain 
he was inflicting, he might have paused as he drew 
up that will. Obtuse in all matters of the affections 
as he was, the judge supposed that, in leaving his 
wife a home and ample estate, he was doing all for 
her that heart could wish. Men, thought the judge, 
are the only persons fit for business. Men only 
should be the legal guardians of a child. Mrs. 
Schuyler was overwhelmed with anguish. She sent 
for her brother. 

“ Henry,” she exclaimed, “ my heart is broken ! 
My poor Lilly, with that priest for her guardian, will 


PRIEST AND NUN 


>67 


be taken from her mother and be made miserable foi 
life.” 

“Why, Maria,” said Mr. Kemp, “I am as much 
Lilly’s guardian as Father Murphy is, and I do not 
see how we are going to make her miserable. Who 
would think of taking her from you ? Neither of us , 
I am sure. Lilly’s prospects are certainly very cheer- 
ing, with plenty of money, and guardians who desire 
only her comfort. You’re excited, Maria ; I know 
you do not like Father Murphy, but he is a very fine 
man, as you’d find him if you only put a little con- 
fidence in him. Harriet likes him greatly.” 

“But Harriet is a Catholic and I am not,” said 
Mrs. Schuyler. 

“ You should not let religion interfere with your 
friendship or prejudice you,” said Mr. Kemp. “ I 
assure you Father Murphy is completely above un- 
derhand dealings. He has no bigotry about him. 
He is benevolent, and desires only everybody’s hap- 
piness.” 

“I ought myself to have been made guardian of 
Lilly,” said the weeping mother. “You and 1. 
Henry, should have been the guardians.” 

“I know,” said Mr. Kemp, complacently, “women 
always think so; but, my dear Maria, what do you 
know about business? Come, now — consider how 
much better off' you are than if you had Lilly and 


168 


PRIEST AND NUN 


her estate to attend to. I cannot let you find fau)v( 
with the judge, Maria; I’m sure he has settled his 
affairs admirably.” So amazed was Mr. Kemp at 
his sister’s foolish fears that he must needs bring 
them up at his dinner-table, and request Harriet, his 
wife, to go over and talk with her a little. 

Richard had been out of town since the funeral, 
and had just returned. He leaned back in his chair 
and emitted certain equivocal hums and half-whistles, 
which might signify his disapprobation of something. 

“ Well, Rick?” said his father, interrogatively. 

“ Father Murphy Lilly’s guaidian !” cried Rich 
ard. 

“ And why not ?” said Mr. Kemp. 

“ To be sure,” said Mrs. Kemp. 

“ I’d as soon think of asking a wolf to be guar- 
dian of a plump little lamb. Mind it, father, that 
wolf in a gown and cocked hat will swallow the little 
lamb and all her perquisites.” 

“That is laying the matter down pretty flatly, 
Rick. You appear to forget that Vm a guardian too 
and Mr. Kemp straightened himself majestically. 

“I know you are,” said Rick, the bold, “and 
when the time comes you’ll be looking about and 
wondering what has become of the lamb, and if it 
was eaten with its own consent, as it was done so 
quietly, poor thing !” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


169 


Now, “poor thing” meant Lilly the lamb, and 
not her uncle-guardian, Mr. Kemp. 

“ Richard !” said Mr. Kemp between turkey and 
Jelly, in a tone that indicated he was offended, within 
bounds of propriety, with the young man. 

Mrs. Kemp resignedly folded her napkin and 
slipped it in its ring, as if to suggest that Rich- 
ard’s remarks had deprived her of any further ap- 
petite. 

Richard’s position at his father’s may need ex- 
planation. He was a young man of ability, and pos- 
sessed a fortune left him by his mother. He had 
oeen educated chiefly before Mr. Kemp became a 
pervert to Romanism, and while unfortunately lack- 
ing all religious feelings — as might only be expected 
when he had seen his father so coolly use religion as 
a stepping-stone in his political ladder — Richard was 
certainly not a Romanist. Strenuous had been 
Mother Robart’s efforts to convert the young man, 
but she had found him the least impressible in all 
the circle of her relatives ; for, though there was no 
relationship between them, the Abbess honored Rich- 
ard with the title of nephew. Richard was free as 
air, dependent on nobody for support, liked for his 
generous, gentlemanly manners, and respected for his 
intelligence and morality. His living at his father’s 
was accepted as a favor. Mr. Kemp had certainly a 

15 


170 


PRIEST AND NUN 


father's pride in his only son. He also found it con- 
venient to have that son a business man and a man 
of property. He would not have offended him on 
any account, and, of course, would never be offended 
with him. 

Madam Robart had not given up all hope of Rich- 
ard's conversion. She was a persistent woman, and 
would never confess herself foiled; certainly not 
when she knew Richard admired her greatly as a 
handsome, daring, successful woman, and frequently 
allowed himself the pleasure of a call upon her. 
Still, Richard's calls were, not sources of unmived 
pleasure, for he often took the privilege of a dashing 
young nephew in teasing her, and was ready to 
attack all vulnerable points *of her practice. On the 
occasion of one of these visits, Estelle entered the 
parlor to get a letter which had just arrived for her 
from Havana. Of course, the Abbess had read the 
letter — that was one of the rules of the institution ; 
even the correspondence of father and child must be 
closely inspected, and the Abbess was particularly 
pleased with the contents of this letter, for it in- 
formed Estelle that her brother Martin had entered 
the Belen at Havana to remain some months and 
study the Spanish language. Here it may be well to 
mention the fictitious portrait which was made the 
occasion of Father Murphy's acquaintance with Mr 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


171 


Wynford and of Estelle’s residence at the Convent 
of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and now dho of 
Martin’s entering the Jesuit school at Havana. Let 
no one anticipate any trouble from the fact that the 
portrait on ivory was bought on a venture and 
directed to a person who never existed. That it was 
put in the care of a veritable Jesuit Father was suffi- 
cient to ensure the success of the little plan. And 
let no one think the subterfuge too small : the Jesuits 
know the power of littles . The wily Father of the 
Belen received the parcel with thanks, and a letter 
from Father Murphy soon enlightened him as to its 
meaning. He cultivated the acquaintance of Mr. 
Wynford and young Martin, and angled so skillfully 
for the lad that, after some months of travel about 
those fair equatorial islands, he entered the Belen as 
a pupil ; and now, if the reverend Father at the Belen 
and the reverend Mother at the Immaculate Heart 
of Mary succeed, here will be two young proselytes 
and their fortunes — always that — for a prey in the 
teeth of Borne. 

Richard, as we said, was sitting in his aunt’s par- 
lor when Estelle entered and departed. 

“Well,” said the tantalizing Richard, “is that 
another heretic in a fair way for conversion ?” 

“ If she could claim to be anything before she 
tame here,” said the Abbess, “it was some style of 


172 


PRIEST AND NUN 


pure pagan, as she had no creed at all, but only unde- 
fined Motions of nature and fate.” 

“ At present I suppose she is one of the true chil- 
dren of the Church ; and that reminds me, aunt, that 
you are losing some of your zeal — you have not tried 
to proselyte me this long time.” 

$ “ As for that, nephew,” said the Abbess, with a 

calm smile, “ you know that we never try to proselyte 
any one — it is against our principles. Those who do 
not come freely, urged only by conscience and reason, 
to the true Church, we do not wish within her bounds. 
If our system concerning proselyting is what you 
would make it appear, how do you account for not 
being a victim yourself?” 

“Oh,” said Richard, mischievously, “it is only 
weak-minded people that are proselyted.” Then, as 
if impressed by some sudden thought, he threw him- 
self into a tragic attitude and cried, “ A thousand, ten 
thousand pardons, my dear aunt ! Believe me, 1 am 
utterly incapable of personalities — unpleasant person- 
alities.” 

“ What a trifler you are, nephew !” said Mother 
Robart. 

“Tell me, oh, tell me, do you pardon me?” cried 
Richard, preserving the air and attitude of an actor. 

“Yes, yes ; and in five minutes you will sin again,” 
said Mother Robart, smiling. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


17 ? 


She admired and liked her handsome, lively nephew, 
quite as well as if she had not been a reverend Abbess. 
After the schooled docility of the pupils, the respect- 
ful silliness of the Sisters, the restless fanaticism of 
Father Douay, and the worldly platitudes of Father 
Murphy, an hour with nephew Richard was to the 
Superior like a sip from De Leon’s fountain, renewing 

the scenes of her youth. 

* * 

[To Ignatia no such hours of relaxation ever came. 
Peace of conscience was a treasure for which she 
sought unresting, and sought where it might never 
be found.] 

“ Nephew Richard,” said the Abbess, “you are a 
specimen of the effects of the false system of education 
prevalent in America. The schools and colleges in 
the United States ignore what is highest, and devote 
themselves to the inculcation of what is lower. From 
their curriculum they reject religion. In its narrow 
interpretation of the term education , the public-school 
system entirely ignores religion, and exhibits instead 
some shadowy outlines of revelation,- which will suit 
everybody and benefit nobody.” * 

“ Meaning,” said Richard, with a bow, “ that the 
religion they ignore is the precious logic of missal 
and tradition, and the Word of God is the revelation 
which ‘ suits every one and benefits none?’ ” 

* Jaa. M. McG., in Catholic Standard. 


174 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ Well, nephew, how much good has the study of 
the Bible done you ?” said the keen Abbess. “ Has 
it made you a religious man? No, nephew ; our school 
system here is ruinous. It teaches only cultivation 
of the mind and conservation of the State.” 

“When it ought to teach the Church,” sail 
Richard. 

“ Yes,” said his aunt, undaunted. “ If it had taught 
you the Church , it might have saved you from being 
an infidel.” 

“ I am not an infidel,” cried Richard. “ I reject 
the term, as unworthy a thinking mind. I humbly 
confess I have seen some Christian Protestants whom 
I would be better for being like. But, with all defer- 
ence to your opinion, aunt, I do not think I would be 
better for being Father Murphy, Father Hecker or 
Archbishop Hughes.” 

As Richard went home, it struck him as inconsist- 
ent that he neither owned nor read a book about 
which he was ready to quarrel with his aunt ; there- 
fore he stopped at a bookstore and purchased a very 
handsome Bible, bound in velvet and gilt, heavily 
cornered and clasped and fitted in a case. Taking it 
into the parlor, he mischievously dropped it into his 
step-mother’s lap. She opened the parcel with some 
curiosity, but when she saw the Bible, drew back as 
if she had been stung. 


PRIEST ANL NUN. 


175 


“ Richard, I’m surprised at you,” she said, while 
Grace and Adelaide ran to examine it, exclaiming, 

“ Oh, what a pretty book ! Is it for me, Richard— 
for me?” 

“ Why, ma’am, what have I done now ?” asked 
Richard, as his step-mother took the book from her 
daughters. 

“Why you have bought a Bible and brought it 
here , when you know we do not allow such books — 
to the girls at least.” 

“ Girls,” said Richard, pocketing his purchase ana 
shaking his finger at his sisters, “remember that this 
Book is always to lie on my dressing-table, and if ever 
you. go there and read it, it will be your own fault.” 

“ It is a book quite unfit for them — entirely above 
their cpmprehension,” said Mrs. Kemp. 

At this Grace indignantly tossed her head. 

Adelaide, from sheer perversity, ran several times 
into Richard’s room and read in his Bible, but it did 
not suit her at all. 

“ I wouldn’t believe such a book,” she said one day 
to Grace ; “ it makes religion so hard. Any one wants 
to be religious , but who wants to take so much trouble 
about it ? The idea of coming down so hard on sin 
and demanding so much repentance for it! How 
much easier our way is — -just to rattle it off to Father 
Murphy once in a while, and have it all pardoned!” 


176 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ But the catechism says that to the priest’s abso* 
lution we must join contrition, confession and satis- 
faction/’ said Grace. 

“ Nonsense !” said Adelaide. “ The catechism don’t 
mean what it says. I’ve tried both ways, and Father 
Murphy absolved me just the same. Now if he re- 
mits the sins, they are remitted, and what use is there 
in distressing one’s self by being sorry, when one can 
get along without? I can prove to you in two 
minutes, Grace, that that answer in the catechism 
don’t mean anything : What is the use of contrition 
when we get absolution? and why give satisfaction 
for sins which have been done away by absolution ?” 

“ But, Adelaide, you make sin such a light 
thing !” 

“ It is a light thing,” said Adelaide. “ It must be 
a light thing if it can be done away by a priest’s two 
words, by a few ‘ Aves,’ or by a day’s fasting, or by 
scratching one’s skin, as nuns do, with a little hair- 
cloth. There’s a book of poetry which I picked up 
at Agnes Anthon’s when I went there to call, which 
makes a great deal more of sin than our Church does. 
It says : 

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding 
small ; 

Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds 
he all? 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


177 


But that, you know, is heretic nonsense ; still, I do 
think it gives a greater idea to show God exacting 
for sin than to show him tossing it all over into the 
hands of a priest, as our Church says.” 

“ Oh, but sin is a great thing — it is against GW,” 
said Grace. 

u He doesn’t count it great, or why should he let 
a few m&m dollars pay for it?” said Adelaide, lazily 
dropping back in her chair and playing with her 
curls. “ Come, now — God, owner of all the treasures 
of the universe, and having no need of money, allows 
sin to be paid for thus : Lies, so much — they’re cheap, 
moreover ; disobedience, so much ; theft, so much r 
neglect of duty, so much. I’m beginning to learn 
the tariff, for it has left me short of pocket-money 
sometimes. When I’m twenty years older, I shall 
know it well.” 

Grace dropped her voice a little. She was ap- 
proaching a forbidden theme : “ Adelaide, in Rick’s 
Bible, I saw, ( The blood of Jesus Christ, his son, 
cleanseth us from all sin.’ ” 

“ Well,” said Adelaide, “ I saw that ‘ Christ was 
once offered to bear the sins of many,’ and that he is 
a ( free gift.’ That don’t at all agree with penance 
and satisfaction and indulgences. That shows that 
the Bible is all wrong, and we ought not to read it 

any more. I sha’n’t, for, as I told you, I don’t 

u 


178 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


like its doctrine about sin being such a serious* 
matter.” 

“But, Adelaide, nothing will keep you from sin 
if you think it such a light thing,” said Grace, 
anxiously. 

“ Nothing in life but expediency,” said Adelaide, 
laughing. Dangerous doctrine this for a girl of 
sixteen ! 

It was now summer-time — glorious midsummer — 
yet the girls at the convent were still busy with 
school-duties. Their friends who were educated at 
other schools were at home for vacation, and among 
these was Agnes Anthon. Grace, obedient to her 
priest, had not dared to call upon Agnes ; but Ade- 
laide had done so from sheer perversity, as she had 
never been very fond of Agnes’ society. Agnes her- 
self called at the convent, said many pretty things to 
the Abbess and the Sisters, told them she often 
thought of the beautiful grounds and appointments 
of the Convent, and that her present school was a 
very plain-looking place in comparison. 

“ She has improved very much,” said Saint Cecelia 
of Agnes. 

“ The seed here sown may be beginning to grow,” 
said Mother Hobart. 

While Grace was repeating to Adelaide that 
precious verse she had found in Richard’s Bible, 


PRIEST AND NUN 


179 


Lilly was hearing the same verse from other lips. 
Lilly was more and more with the nuns as each 
month passed by. She especially delighted in visit- 
ing the poor, the sick and the dying, and her liberal 
supplies of pocket-money were chiefly expended in 
relieving suffering. Perhaps if Mrs. Schuyler had 
roused herself to go abroad and seek out cases of 
necessity, and had taken her child to aid her in re- 
lieving their wants, she might not only have kept 
her with herself and more apart from her Sisters, but 
she might have given her mind healthier impulses, 
and, by showing her how to do works of charity her- 
self, might have freed her from the notions that Ro- 
manists and members of “ Holy Orders” are the only 
charitable people in the world — a notion that poor 
Lilly was not singular in holding. But unhappy, 
lonely and bewildered by the Romish toils she found 
winding about herself and child, suffering from feeble 
health and the apathy that grows upon inactive lives, 
she took no resolute and well-timed measures to re- 
cover her child from deceivers and self-deception. 

Lilly’s tender sympathies, extreme sensitiveness, 
enthusiasm and morbid imagination were carefully 
fostered by nun and priest. Before her mind were 
placed the lives of numerous saints, the religion of 
good works, the possibility of seeing miracles, pro- 
digies and revelations ; and, naturally given to medi- 


180 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


tation and devotion, Lilly gradually withdiew from 
youthful friends, and, when not busy in the school- 
room, was often, with a basket in her hand at Saint 
Cecelia’s or Saint Sophia’s side, visiting “ good Catho- 
lics” who were ill, and wdio, if neglected, might fall 
a prey to Bible- Women or Colporteurs. It w r as thus 
that with Saint Cecelia — Annette, her waiting-maid, 
following with a basket well filled by Lilly’s gifts — 
Lilly went to visit Ann Mora, w r ho was laid up with 
a broken limb. Lilly had often seen Ann since the 
day when she found her at the foot of her class in the 
parochial school. She had given Ann and Pat many 
presents of clothes and money. When they made 
their first communion, their clothes and new prayer- 
books came from Lilly. She was regarded with 
tender love by them both. When she found that 
Ann had met w r ith a serious accident, she insisted on 
going to see her at once, and w T as more liberal than 
usual in providing sick-room luxuries. Ann was 
tossing in a fevered sleep, her face flushed, her hair 
disordered, her hands moving restlessly, and ever and 
again talking in her dreams. Lilly and Saint Cecelia 
bent over the bed. 

“ The blood ! the blood !” muttered Ann, “ the 
blood of Jesus Christ — from sin, from all sin — 
cleanseth us from all sin !” 

Lilly knew well where she had first heard those 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


181 


words. Saint Cecelia did not recognize them, but 
looking up at Mrs. Mora, asked, 

“ What is she talking about ?” 

“ It's meself that doesn’t know ; only it’s some verse 
she’s picked up, and she has it over all the time when 
she’s dreaming.” 

Saint Cecelia was busy giving Mrs. Mora some 
orders and asking all manner of inquisitorial ques- 
tions. Annette had been given the basket and per 
mission to depart. 

Ann Mora opened her heavy eyes, perhaps from 
some magnetic influence of the earnest gaze Lilly fixed 
upon her. 

“ Poor Ann !” said Lilly, “ you are very sick, and 
you suffer much. Doesn’t it help you to say your 
prayers ?” 

“ I say ’em, miss,” said Ann. 

“And in your sleep you were saying something 
about blood cleansing from all sin.” 

Ann repeated the verse very promptly. 

“ Y is, I remember you told me you learned that 
in the heretic school you went to.” 

“ I know I did,” said Ann, “ but I believe it holds 
the true religion for poor wicked folks like me. It’s 
different from you, miss — it don’t need blood, belike, 
to cleanse your sins.” 

Saint Cecelia had heard none of this, as it was 

i« 


PRIEST AND NUN 


182 


softly spoken. On the way home, Lilly, greatly dis- 
turbed, said, 

“ Ann talks very strangely, Saint Cecelia.” 

“ Perhaps so — I did not notice — she is feverish and 
most likely out of her right mind.” 

Lilly was relieved by this supposition, but Ann’s 
verse was not to be banished from her thoughts. So 
interested in Ann’s illness and poverty was Lilly that 
she went to her Uncle Kemp’s that evening to tell 
the girls about it. All the family but Grace had gone 
to the theatre. Grace had been kept at home by a 
slight headache, but was glad enough to see Lilly 
coming in to relieve the tedium of the moments she 
was spending on the sofa in the parlor. 

“ You do not seem to care for any pleasures, Lilly, 
but you devote yourself to acts of religion, just like a 
Sister,” said Grace. 

“ It was always so with me,” said Lilly ; “ death, 
heaven, angels — these were always in my mind when I 
was a little child. Nobody said much about religion 
to me until Mother Robart got me to convent school ; 
then the Sisters and Father Murphy made it so plain 
to me and showed me how all one’s life could be re- 
ligion. I sometimes think 1 shall take the ‘Three 
Evangelical Counsels’ as the rule of my life and be a 
nun.” 

u Oh, Lilly ! you would not, you could not, 


PRIEST AND NUN 


183 


leave your mother, your friends, your money, every 
pleasure in life and be a nun /” 

“And why not, Grace? Ought I not even to 
leave my mother for God and the Church? Shall I 
love my money more than my soul, and the pleasures 
of this world more than heaven ? Oh, Grace, only to 
think of dying and coming short of heaven !” 

“ But, Lilly, do those only get to heaven who fol- 
low the ( Evangelical Counsels’ of ‘ perpetual charity, 
good works and voluntary poverty ?’ ” 

“Yes, to be sure, Grace; but no one dare expect 
forgiveness who despises a ‘vocation? Father Mur- 
phy and Saint Cecelia, indeed all the Sisters, say that 
is surely my c vocation.’ Annette is a very pious girl, 
and she told me the other day, while she was dressing 
my hair, of a young lady who was persuaded to ne- 
glect her ‘ vocation,’ and such dreadful troubles befell 
her, and such a doom followed all she loved, as drove 
her, after many years’ resistance, to do her duty ; and 
af thirty she took the veil and died a month after, 
very unhappy because she had neglected to do right 
so long.” 

“But, Lilly, I am sure your mother would die of 
grief if you were a nun.” 

“ Why, Father Murphy says that I can be just as 
good a daughter — yes and better — to her than ever, 
and that it will surely be the means of her salvation, 


184 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Once I am a nun, she will give all up and be very 
happy, and a good Catholic, and then we shall not 
be divided for ever. Oh, Grace, just think how 
beautiful it is to live a pure, holy life, doing good 
continually — beginning heaven in this world ! How 
much better, dear Grace, is the soul than the body ! — 
how much nobler to live entirely for spiritual inter- 
ests ! How easy, then, it will be to lay by in the 
grave the body we have cared for so little, and enter 
heaven clothed with prayers and good deeds l” 

“ I wish I were like you, Hilly !” said Grace, with 
a sigh. “ Very often all I care for seems to me so 
vain and trifling. I am so afraid of death, and feel 
as if I were not living for any usefulness. There 
will be weeks when I do not think of these things ; 
then weeks when I am low-spirited and think of 
nothing else, and so long to be and do good. Some- 
times I wish I were like Adelaide — not caring the 
least in the world for anything but pleasure and 
dress and admiration. She never worries about sal- 
vation — never feels so distressed about doing wrong — 
but oftener I wish I were like you. Oli dear !” and 
tears rolled over Grace’s cheeks. 

“ Grace,” said Lilly, kissing her cousin, “very 
likely if you should give up all your love of the world 
and deny yourself and be a nun, you would be much 
happier than you are now. May be it is your duty, 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


185 


Grace ; anyway, I am sure it would save your soul, 
and that is the most important.” 

“Well,” said Grace, wiping her eyes, “Fll talk to 
Father Murphy about it.” Then musing a moment, 
the innate ambition of her heart awoke. “ It would 
be worth while to be like Aunt Margaret,” she said. 
Mother Robart was still spoken of at times by her 
nieces as Aunt Margaret. 

“Oh,” said Lilly, “I never thought of being like 
her. You might, Grace, but I only look for some very 
quiet place as a working Sister. To nurse the sick 
and comfort the dying, that is all I want. It must 
nave been grand to go to Rome as Aunt Margaret 
did, and see the Holy Pope and the grand churches, 
the relics, the miracles, the wood of the true cross, 
the handkerchief of Veronica, the very manger in 
which Holy Mary laid the infant Jesus. But I 
never expect to see these things. If I can do good 
among the worst and poorest, it is all I ask.” 

Poor Lilly! tender, loving, earnest heart, how 
deceived! Enter heaven “clothed with prayers and 
good works,” instead of having on the righteousness 
of Jesus? Save her soul by being a nun? “By 
grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of 
yourselves ; it is the gift of God.” 

Strictly forbidden, as Lilly had been by her 
priest, tc mention this subject of her “ vocation” to 
16 * 


186 


PRIEST AND NUN 


her mother, Mrs. Schuyler yet suspected what course 
of life was being urged upon her daughter, and asked 
Lilly if she intended to take this step. 

“ Oh, mother,” said Lilly, nervously, “ I am too 
young, too ignorant, to intend anything myself ; I 
must take advice from my superiors.” 

“ Why not then from me, your loving mother ?” 

“I know you would advise me not to do it, 
mother.” 

“And should* not a child respect a mother’s 
wishes, believe in a mother’s judgment, trust a 
mother’s love, Lilly ?” 

“ Oh, mother, if it is my duty, ought I to let any 
love hinder me ? Ought I to lose my soul ? Father 
Murphy is my spiritual director, mother; he is to 
me the voice, of God. I dare not disobey him; I 
must do as he says, for he is always right.” 

“ Always right ! My poor child ! He is an art- 
ful and scheming man, deceiving you with false- 
hoods.” 

“ If he had ever told me a falsehood,” said Lilly, 
flushing, “ I would never believe him again ; but he 
has not ; he is too good — he cannot. Mother, you do 
not like him because you are not of the true Church. 
Oh, mother, do turn from heresy and be a good 
Catholic, and save your soul, and make your Lilly 
happy !” cried the girl, flinging her arms about 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


187 


her mother and looking at her with tearful ear- 
nestness. 

Mrs. Schuyler’s next appeal was to her brother, 
Mr. Kemp. 

“ There has no step been taken in this matter ; how 
can I begin to interfere on a mere notion ?” said Mr. 
Kemp. “ Besides, Maria, Lilly is old enough to 
choose for herself, and I do not think it right to 
meddle with what she considers her duty or makes 
her choice, when I can see no possible harm in it. 
Do you think she is forced in this matter?” 

“She is given false notions of duty, and unjustly 
pressed and persuaded, until she does not know 
what she really wants or what is right,” said Mrs. 
Schuyler. 

“ I will ask her if any threats or bribes or im- 
proper means are used to urge her,” said Mr. Kemp, 
carelessly. But Lilly protested she was free to do as 
she pleased — that she was guided only by convictions 
of duty, and intended to do only what should seem 
right and for her highest happiness. 

“ I cannot take any steps to hinder her at all,” 
said Mr. Kemp. “It would not be just; she must 
choose for herself, and I see no occasion for your 
anxiety, Maria — positively I don’t.” 

While this point was being mooted, and Father 
Murphy was hot to have his ward and her property 


188 


PRIEST AND NUN 


given to a holy Order, Mother Robart hesitated. 
Mother Robart owed a duty to her Church, but there 
was also a duty which she owed to her family. Did 
she join her strength to Father Murphy’s and win 
Lilly to take a nun’s vow, she would serve the 
Church and greatly enrich the convent. On the 
other hand, if .she were the means of marrying Lilly 
to Richard, she would enrich her own family, and 
very likely bring Richard over to the Holy Catholic 
Church of our Father of Rome. Mother Robart 
hesitated. She was a woman with a mind and will 
of her own, and Father Murphy’s orders were not 
reason sufficient for her, unless her own judgment 
agreed thereto. 

She hesitated, we say, and her hesitation extended 
over the fall and winter. She wanted to be sure of 
her own ground. And while she hesitated she bade 
Lilly wait, not be precipitate — more good would be 
accomplished by caution than by haste. During 
these months, Richard, having been carefully sounded 
by his step-mother and by Madam Robart herself, 
the Abbess was persuaded that his marriage to Lilly 
was never to be. 

“ She’s an angel,” said Richard, “but I’m too 
human to want to marry an angel. I wish I’d been 
left her guardian. I’d run her off from convents, 
priests and nuns, and get some sensible folks to make 


PRIEST AND NUN 


189 


a healthy, happy Ionian of her. Yes, she’s an 
angel, pure and sweet as the flower they’ve named 
her after, but, with all deference to everybody, no 
Papist wife for me.” 

“ I agree with you,” said the Abbess, royally, to 
the priest — “ Lilly must be a nun.” 

“ I told you so from the first,” said Father Mur- 
phy, tranquilly. 

Thus was Lilly’s fate decided in a secret conclave 
of two — a nun and a priest. 

Lilly’s example and her enthusiastic words had had 
very different effects on Grace and Adelaide. Adelaide, 
growing every day more bold and scoffing, mocked at 
the whole matter as the idlest piece of fanaticism — had 
her doubts altogether about souls and eternity, and 
said, 

“If these things really are, let the Church take 
care of them; what else was such a great machine 
good for ?” 

Such words as these chilled the heart of Grace 
^ ith sense of coming ill. Adelaide was letting go 
all religion, and where would she end? The girls 
firmed each other, loved tenderly — the petty disputes 
of childish years had died away — but now there was 
some dark chasm widening between them hour by 
hour. Grace’s craving, sympathetic, earnest nature 
had been much roused and touched by Lilly’s devo- 


190 


PRIEST AND NUN 


tion. Perhaps Lilly’s was the only true and worthy 
course of life — the one herself must choose. She took 
these weighty questions to Father Murphy. The 
priest had come to visit these two lambs, Grace and 
Adelaide ; and Grace tremblingly asked him what was 
her duty. Adelaide’s lip Curled, scornfully. 

“A nun?” said Father Murphy. “A nun? and 
why would you enter a holy Order ?” 

“ Perhaps it is my duty. If it is Lilly’s, why not 
mine ?” asked Grace. 

“ Because you are not Lilly,” said the priest. “ If 
the Church wanted you, she would tell you. No, no ; 
you and Adelaide must serve us in the world ; we do 
not want you in the convent.” 

“ We are not rich enough to be nuns,” said Ade- 
laide, with covert sneer. 

“No, not rich enough, nor poor enough. We want 
nuns with fortunes ; nuns that can teach ; nuns that 
can work ; but for you, you shall uphold the Church 
in the world. You can look to marrying rich men 
and holding high position, and making your hus- 
bands good Catholics. Let me hear no more non- 
sense about being nuns.” 

“If we inherit fortunes, you’ll take us, won’t 
you ?” said Adelaide the crafty. 

Father Murphy looked keenly at her. “Yes; we 
would take you, too, to save you from turning heretic.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


191 


“ Heretic !” said Adelaide, with spirit. “ Fll never 
turn heretic !” 

And now, as spring opened, Lilly was nuuil)ered 
among the Postulates. 


CHAPTER II. 


A ONES . — THE MISSOURI NUN.— ESTELLE. 

f HE passing seasons had brought our girls to theii 
seventeenth year, Agnes being a few months older 
than the three cousins, and Estelle somewhat 
younger than these her chosen friends. A change 
had come to Agnes’ outward life. Her father had 
died in Italy, her mother had returned home, with 
her coming a rich old Scotch uncle, who at once 
assumed the cares and privileges of guardian and 
provider to Agnes and her mother. This sturdy 
Scotchman boasted the blood of Covenanters, and 
Romanism was his favorite aversion. Having arrived 
with his niece, Mrs. Anthon, in the city, his first care 
was to secure a commodious house and make arrange- 
ments at once to have it suitably furnished. He had 
been shown many of the letters written by Agnes to 
her mother, and from that mother’s fond lips had 
heard glowing accounts of her daughter. He was 
a liberal-minded and affectionate old man, and al- 
ready disposed to receive his grand-niece with cor- 
diality, and to give her every advantage that his 

192 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


193 


ample means could procure. Judge, then, his indig- 
nation when he found that Agnes, having returned 
for the summer vacation of her school, had gone at 
her own request to be an inmate of the Convent 
of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Mrs. Anthon 
was as mucli distressed and amazed as her uncle, 
and proposed going at once and bringing her daugh- 
ter away. Mr. MacPherson, however, advised that 
she should send a messenger to the convent, stating 
her arrival and her address in the city, and desiring 
her daughter to come to her. 

“ Then we can talk to her without any of those 
auns and priests to listen and interfere,” said the 
wrathful Scot. 

Mrs. Anthon took this advice, and her messenger 
returned with a line from Agnes, saying she would 
hasten to welcome her mother. But the day passed, 
and no Agnes appeared. 

Agnes had indeed requested to be received at the 
Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary as a 
boarder, expressing a wish to receive instruction from 
Saints Anna and Sophia in music and embroidery. 
She was a changed girl, and the story of her having 
found a rich bachelor uncle having preceded her, 
Father Murphy and Mother Hobart alike regretted 
that she had not been to them a more important 

object, and that they had not more zealously en- 
17 N 


194 


PRIEST AXD NUN. 


deavored to secure her to the Holy Roman Church 
Here was the hour of Father Douay’s triumph over 
the short-sightedness of his compeers. Regrets seemed 
unnecessary, however; for without invitation or flat- 
tery, this unwary fly came near Mother Hobart’s 
glittering net and fluttered in. O rare occasion ! 
Mother Robart was only too eager to meet the ad- 
vances of her destined victim. Even without money. 
Agnes was now worth Rome’s deepest wiles. Bril- 
liant in appearance and in conversation, with a singu- 
lar fascination of manner and a maturity far beyond 
her years, Agnes Anthon bade fair in the meridias 
of her life to rival the stately Abbess of the Immac e 
late Heart. And in this noble creature had the see Is 
of Romish instructions begun to stir with awakeni ig 
life and to send forth blade and root? Agnes o r- 
tainly desired as a favor admission to the conve it, 
and she devoted herself to the society of the Sisfc rs. 
read their books, went ever and anon to the Abl ess 
for instruction, with a fair appearance of devo y ion 
took part in all the services of the chapel, spoke of 
the “ dear convent,” and in her self-chosen prison vos 
happiest of the happy. 

“1 told you so,” said Mother Robart to feaim 
Cecelia. 

“ The change is all owing to those two weeks vitfc 
our daughter Tgnatia,” said Father Douay. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


195 


Lilly and Grace received the returned prodigal 
with acclamation. Grace was more entirely enrap- 
tured with her friend than ever ; and Lilly, after long 
and earnest conversations with Agnes, would go to 
some of the nuns and tell with beaming eyes how 
docile, reverential and earnest Agnes had become. 

Now arrived the line from Mrs. Anthon. Mother 
Robart sent for Agnes. “ You will wish to see your 
mother at once,” said the Superior. 

“It is the evening of our festival,” said Agnes, 
“ and I do not want to go away. Mamma will be at 
the hotel to-morrow. Can’t Saint Cecelia go there 
with me then? I don’t exactly want to go alone, 
and I’d rather go when my stranger uncle is away. 
In fact,” added Agnes, looking ingenuous and em- 
barrassed, “ I did not expect mamma so soon, and I 
want a little time to make up my mind what to say 
to her.” 

The Abbess smiled well pleased : “ Your mother 
will wish you to leave us and remain with her.” 

“ I’m resolved to stay until that embroidery is fin- 
ished and I learn those organ chants,” said Agnes, 
firmly. 

“You know, dear daughter,” said the Abbess, 
“ that we should grieve to part with you — that you 
are dear indeed to us — all the dearer for the follies of 
70 ur youth)” she added, patting Agnes’ cheek. 


196 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ 1 must do something to blot out the memory of 
those things from your mind, mother,” said Agnes, 
“and I will.” 

“ And what shall it be ?” asked the Superior. 

“ Tell me yourself,” said Agnes. “ Shall I please 
you by taking the nun’s veil? Sometimes I verily 
think I will.” 

“You would please me by being a true daughtei 
of our Church, nun or not,” said the Superior. 

“Never fear, mother; the more I see and the 
longer I stay here, the more resolved I become. I 
will be to you more than your heart could wish,” 
said Agnes. 

That evening there was a festival at the convent — 
an affair of hymns and chants and prayers, altars 
dressed with flowers and offerings to the convent 
fund, in honor of Joseph and Mary. Mother Robart 
claimed that she knew the date of the betrothal of 
the pious pair, and thus celebrated it: In the con- 
vent chapel stood two statues on handsome pedestals, 
on the front of one pedestal being “S. J.” in heavy 
gilded letters, on the other “ S. M.” These were 
covered and scattered over with choice flowers, while 
choirs of white-clad children sang their praise. 
This was the festival Agnes did not wish to leave. 

In one corner of the chapel knelt apart the nun 
from Missouri. Poor thing! she was suspected of 


PRIEST AND NUN 


197 


hating her convent and her vow, and desiring to fly 
from both. She had been kept locked up for a fort- 
night ; but, giving some tokens of reviving piety, had 
been brought into the chapel and placed by herself 
to worship alone, the Pariah of the assembly. She 
was a forlorn, heavy-hearted creature — great contrast 
to Agnes, high in favor — the contrast being greater 
yet when Agnes, clothed in flowing white, with 
crown of flowers, in some of the evolutions of the 
evening swept near her for a moment — yes, and 
spoke to her. And yet the two were not greatly 
different in age, height or mien, only that one had 
been drawn down and wrecked in the Charybdis of 
conventual discipline, while the other yet hovered 
just without its gloomy edge. 

After the festival was over, Saint Cecelia saw 
Agnes kneeling by the dormitory window, her head 
bent on her hands. Near her were a missal, a rosary 
and a crucifix. Saint Anna had left them there, bul 
Saint Cecelia supposed them to belong to Agnes, and 
that the girl was at her prayers. She was eithei 
praying or thinking deeply. 

The next morning Saint Cecelia accompanied 
Agnes to the hotel to see her mother. It was a tender 
meeting. Agnes was overjoyed to see her mother, 
who was in unusually good health, yet weeping ove* 

the loss of her husband. The mother was proud 
17 * 


198 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


indeed of the daughter blooming into such gracious 
womanhood; yet her heart sickened with a deadly 
fear that upon that goodly blossom a fatal blight was 
creeping. To the mother the interview was unsatis- 
factory. Agnes did not wish to leave the convent at 
present — was busy with important duties, and de- 
scribed in glowing terms the splendid building and 
ground* and the stately Abbess of the Convent of 
the Immaculate Heart of Mary. There was a visit- 
ing-day next week, when her mother and uncle must 
come and see her, and they would then know how 
soon their house would be ready for them. Agnes 
kissed her mother and departed with the nun, who 
had been a mute third party at the meeting. Agnes 
departed, leaving the mother with a pain in her 
heart. The fact was, in these years of absence, 
Agnes had learned to be somewhat independent of 
her mother. But a mother never learns to do without 
her child. When Mr. MacPherson came in, Mrs. 
Anthon detailed to him her conversation with Agnes, 
and wept as she did so. Taking her handkerchief out 
to wipe her eyes, a bit of paper fluttered to the floor. 

“That’s Agnes’ photograph,” said Mrs. Anthon, 
picking it up. “ Why, no, it isn’t ; it is a note for 
you. It is in Agnes’ hand. How came it in my 
pocket ?” 

Hei uncle read the note several times and put it in 


PRIEST AXD XUX. 


199 


his wallet. “Where’s the picture, niece?” he 
asked. 

“What L the note, uncle?” said Mrs. Anthon, 
anxiously. “She must have slipped it in my pocket 
when she put the picture there.” 

“ What’s in the note ?” said Mr. MacPherson. 
“Ay, ay, what is in it? Didn’t you tell me of 
some fuss the girl had once with those nuns and 
priests ? Let us hear it again.” 

As Mrs. Anthon detailed *the circumstances of 
Agnes’ banishment from the convent, her uncle 
laughed long and loud. “ Leave the girl to me a 
bit,” he said. 

“ I shall certainly use all my authority to keep 
her from turning Papist,” said Mrs. Anthon, with a 
spice of that firmness for which her daughter was 
noted. “ Unfortunately, Agnes has been thrown into 
Romish hands, but I shall use all my endeavors, now 
to nullify their influence.” 

When the mother and uncle visited Agnes at the 
convent, her uncle was rather cold to her. At leav- 
ing he said, firmly, “ Mind you, niece, two weeks 
from yesterday, at two o’clock, I’ll be here with a 
carriage to take you homey [He had been in- 
structed in this air and speech in Agnes’ note.] 

Agnes gave him one quick look and dropped her 
eyes. 


200 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“You will have trouble, deai daughter, but be 
firm,” said the Mother Superior when the guests had 
departed. 

“ I must go with them for a while, mother, but 1 
promise you I can come back when I want to, if 
you’ll take me.” 

“ My House and my heart are ever open to you, 
laughter Agnes,” said the Abbess. 

Agnes went up to a little room, which, being a 
boarder, she occupied alone, and threw herself on 
her bed. When she came down to tea she looked 
as if she had been crying. The nuns whispered that 
Agnes was going to be persecuted for the True Faith, 
and showed her much consideration. The nun from 
Missouri had been released from durance vile and 
taken into partial favor, as the day after the festival 
she informed her Superior that she had seen an angel 
in white, who bade her make her submission and be 
obedient. She now ventured an observation to Agnes : 

“ Dear Sister Agnes, it is better to suffer for doing 
right than because you have done wrong.” 

Agnes, who seemed in a melting mood, fell on her 
neck and said with a sob, 

“ Dear Sister, you and I must be true.” 

On this little scene the Abbess looked down be- 
aignantly. 

As each day passed on, Agnes seemed to cling more 



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PRIEST AND NUN. 


201 


closely to her convent home. “ One day less !” she 
would say to the Abbess, with a look of charming 
regret, and the Superior grew sure of her prize. 

During these days a whisper that the convent was 
haunted, or angel-visited, got afloat. The penitent 
nun from Missouri admitted that she had seen a 
spirit, gracious in air and clad in spotless garments ; 
and one or two others claimed equal perspicuity of 
vision. The Abbess laid the matter before the Rev. 
Father Murphy, stating that it was started by the 
nun from Missouri. 

“ The case is clear enough,” said the Father, care- 
lessly. “ You had the girl in the dungeon a while, 
hadn’t you ?” 

“ In the dungeon a week, and in a cell in the east 
wing another week,” replied the Abbess. 

“ Well, it is evident that her weak brain has been 
a little turned by solitary confinement. Likely she 
will never get her reason perfectly again, but as long 
as the aberration runs on angels and the like, it 
doesn’t matter. She believes it so fully herself that * 
these others are led away by it.” 

u After all,” said the Abbess, smiling, “ it will do 
no harm to have a ‘ miracle’ for the pupils to talk 
about.” 

“None in the world,” said the excellent priest. 

This view of the case made the Abbess more lem- 


202 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


ent to a nun whom she must consider half crazed by 
her own hard usage ; and as the nun seemed to like 
to stay in the cell where she had been shut up, she 
was permitted to do so. It was not far from Agnes* 
room, and the young girl often heard the Sister chant- 
ing to herself in her solitude. She always heard her 
with a smile. 

The day set by Agnes* uncle came. Her trunk 
was packed and carried down, and she was ready to 
depart. She was dressed in deep mourning for her 
father. Agnes had bidden her young friends fare- 
well, and sat waiting in the parlor with the Abbess 
and Saint Cecelia. It was school-time and the con- 
vent was quiet. The carriage was now at the gate. 
The dictatorial Scotch uncle had come, and he looked 
at his niece apparently ill pleased. The Abbess took 
her hopeful charge in her embrace. 

66 1 cannot, I cannot,** sobbed Agnes. “ There, let 
me go. I must have one last look, one prayer, in 
my precious room alone, before I go.** 

She broke away from the Abbess and ran up 
stairs. In ten minutes she was back, her heavy 
black veil dropped, her handkerchief pressed to her 
eyes. She put her hand in her uncle’s arm, tremb- 
ling violently, and as he angrily conducted her down 
the steps she hid her face against him and waved a 
Last farewell. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


203 


“ Who would have thought she would feel it so ?” 
said the Abbess. “ We shall have her yet.” 

“ She’s got on her alpaca,” said Saint Cecelia. 
u I thought it had been her merino.” 

Meanwhile, Mr. MacPherson put his niece in his 
carriage, rating her roundly. 

“ Out on that false, bewitching Church that has 
turned your brain ! You, Agnes, with the blood of 
martyred Covenanters in your veins, traitor to the 
faith for which your fathers died ! Have done with 
your shaking and crying, girl ! I have no patience 
with you !” 

His niece shrunk hiding into a corner of the car- 
riage, and put a letter in his hand as they were driven 
rapidly away. 

The nun from Missouri, kneeling in her cell, would 
not come out, but kept telling her beads and repeat- 
ing her prayers all night — at least such was the re- 
port made to the Abbess the next morning. On 
hearing this, the Abbess bade Saint Cecelia order the 
nun to her presence, saying, 

“ I must find out what she means.” 

The order being given, the prostrate devotee arose, 
pulled her hood well over her bowed face and glided 
to the private parlor of the Superior. She stood 
there, her head drooping (thus concealing her fea- 
tures), and holding to a chair, as if for support. 


204 


PRIEST AND NUN 


Saint Cecelia left the room, and as she closed the 
door, the Abbess said, 

“ Look at me, daughter.” 

The nun slowly raised her head, pushed back hei 
hood with both hands, and the handsome, dauntless 
face of Agnes Anthon met the Superior’s eye. 

“ Agnes !” cried the Abbess, “ what does this 
mean ?” 

“ It means,” said Agnes, boldly, “ that I have 
turned Rome’s weapons against herself. Here you 
teach us to deceive, and — I have deceived you” 

“ What have you done ?” exclaimed Mother Robart, 
sinking slowly back in her chair and folding her arms 
across her ample chest. 

“ I have set your poor little captive from Missouri 
free as air,” said Agnes, throwing back her proud 
young head and eyeing the Superior unflinchingly. 
“ She left with my uncle yesterday, and to-day he 
will be back for me; and,” she added, meaningly, 
“ if he does not find me, he has power and Scotch 
energy enough to turn your precious convent upside 
down.” 

“ Wretched girl !” hissed the Abbess, clenching 
her hand, “ I might have known this !” 

“You might” said Agnes, haughtily, “but you 
trusted too much the power of Rome. Did you 
think you could make a pervert of me f Six months 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


205 


ago I read stories of the wretched captives whom 
Rome holds, until my blood was on fire. I remem- 
bered the unhappy girl you had brought here from 
the West. Her haggard face haunted me, and I laid 
my plans to come back here and watch what I could 
do for her. Each week the way has opened before 
me. I seized each chance as it came — and she has 
gone. I had pride in it, too,” she added, with flash- 
ing eyes. “ I was proud to pit my strength against 
yours !” 

“ How dare you, doomed and wicked girl, stand 
there before me, polluting the dress of our sacred 
Order ?” cried Madam Robart, fiercely. 

“Fll take off what I can,” said Agnes coolly, 
throwing hood, cape and apron upon the floor. 
“ What do you mean to do — blazon my exploit 
abroad, or send me away quietly with my uncle ?” 

“ You have tampered with a poor nun whom we 
can prove crazy, and have taken her from the shelter 
which, when in her right mind, she loved.” 

“ It was a prison she hated,” said Agnes. “ If 
you think her crazy about visions, why we arranged 
them between us. She has seconded me splendidly, 
making it a double pleasure to release her. You 
helped her run awaj from her relatives to join you, 
and, now, in order to escape from you, she has used 
some of the guile you taught her. Fve fallen on her 
18 


206 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


neck and slipped a note into her robe under your 
very eyes.” 

“ Protestant !” hissed the superior. “Protestant 
worthy of the name ! to live a life of falsehood and 
to lie to me so infamously day after day !” 

“ Oh, but you didn’t understand me, Mother Ho- 
bart/ replied Agnes, naively ; “ and if that were true, 
it is better to live a false life two months than all 
one’s life, as — Well, I might have done this a 
better way, but this way suited me.” 

A furious ring of the great front-door bell just 
now sounded through the house. 

“That’s my uncle,” said Agnes, cheerfully. There 
was a loud voice and a heavy stride in the hall, and 
Mr. MacPherson, pushing past the porteress and 
flinging the inner door wide open, made his way 
through the grand parlor to the withdra wing-room, 
where were those he sought. 

“Where is my niece?” he demanded fiercely. 

“ Here, uncle !” cried Agnes bravely. 

He caught her hands in both his and shook them 
vigorously. “ Good girl ! grand girl ! I didn’t 
know but they’d make way with you before I got 
here. Come, now, let me get you out of this den — 
‘maybe there’s a trap-door under our feet.” 

“Sir, you insult me!” cried the Abbess. “Is this 
your Scotch politeness and manhood ? By all means 


PRIEST AND NUN 


207 


take that girl from this sacred roof — take her away 
from those whose courtesy she has returned with dis- 
respect — whose candor she has answered with false- 
hood — whose religion and charity she has trampled 
under foot !” 

Thus, you see, Mother Robart was not to be 
crushed. She could hold her own against great 
odds, and, defeated, appear to have conquered. As 
Mr. MacPherson, flushed and excited, carried 
off his niece, madam stood in the door of her 
parlor majestic as a queen dismissing a disgraced 
servitor. 

Now was Agnes’ hour of triumph. In her uncle’s 
eyes she was a heroine. His friends were disposed 
to regard her in the same light. . Hints of the mat- 
ter crept into the papers. Grace and Adelaide told 
the story at home — Adelaide with unequivocal glee ; 
Grace amazed, shocked, and yet with covert admira- 
tion of her whom she dared not call her friend. 
Richard took up the affair with enthusiasm, and 
presuming on the introduction given at the “ As* 
sumption” fete, hastened down to Mr. MacPherson’s 
new abode to flatter and applaud. 

In all this dangerous hum of adulation, one voice 
alone was silent — one anxious eye checked the undue 
exultation; and to shield her from the unwonted 
dangers of praise and popularity was the anxious 


208 


PRIEST AND NUN 


thought of the young girPs best friend and guardian 
— her mother. 

Uncle MacPherson, finding his fears put to flight, 
and his best hopes more than realized, was ready to 
exalt his niece to complete sovereignty over himself, 
and would have said to her, “ What is thy petition? 
and it shall be granted thee ; and what is thy request ? 
even to the half of the kingdom, it shall be per- 
formed.” 

Mrs. Anthon wisely let a day or two of this ex- 
uberant rejoicing pass away. Then came the good 
maternal counsel and monition : — 

“ My daughter, no one rejoices more than I at that 
poor girPs escape. But tell me, was it philanthropy 
alone that put this difficult scheme in your head? 
Was it not also pride and a desire to try your own 
ability at outwitting the Superior and priest, that 
urged you on ?” 

“Yes, mother,” said Agnes, frankly; “it was all 
of these. I rejoiced in being able to defeat them, 
as well as to save that unhappy nun.” 

“ And does it argue well, my child, for the crystal 
purity and frankness of your character, that you are 
able to outscheme old schemers and to deceive the 
teachers of deception?” and Mrs. Anthon looked 
down into the dark eyes of the girl sitting on a has- 
sock at her feet, until Agnes blushed. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


•209 


i( Mother,” said A gnes, “ do you think I could 
ever deceive you ?” 

“ I hope not, my child, and yet this ability tc 
manoeuvre and mislead is a fatal power. Perhaps 
you used it well this time, but you might indulge it 
to your ruin. I tremble when I think that for weeks 
you could live an unnatural life — a tissue of du- 
plicity. Agnes, your work was well conceived — was 
boldly planned — was steadfastly carried out; and 
yet, my daughter, it shows that the child-like sim- 
plicity of your character is gone.” 

“ Mother, in these years since we parted you ex- 
pected me to change. I have been thrown on my 
own resources, forced to think and act for myself 
You cannot expect me to be a child any longer.” 

“ There are some characteristics of childhood, my 
'Agnes, I would have you hold for ever. He who 
enters the kingdom of heaven must enter as a little 
child. Agnes, was your plan worthy of a Christian V 

“ But, mother, I am not a Christian,” said Agnes, 
in a subdued tone. 

<c Alas, you are not, my dear girl ; and do you not 
know that, lacking the Christian’s hope in Jesus, 
your soul will be lost despite all natural graces? 
Agnes, while you have set another free, are you a 
captive still? My highest wish for you is yet un- 
satisfied.” 
is * 


0 


210 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


It is singular .iow averse we are by nature to a 
personal appeal concerning religion; how ready to 
turn the subject to our neighbor and away from our- 
selves. Proving this feeling, Agnes referred the 
matter of conversation to her uncle, who was slowly 
pacing up and down the room : 

“ Uncle, are you a Christian?” 

“ I am a professor of religion, niece,” said Mr 
MacPherson, slowly. 

“And a possessor * ?” asked Agnes, with characteris- 
tic freedom. 

The old gentleman walked up and down the room 
for some minutes in a deep muse. 

“Well, Agnes,” he said at last, stopping before 
her, “ by the grace of God I believe I am ; and yet, 
I fear, the most dead and crooked stick among all 
Christ’s branches. Niece,” he continued looking at 
M rs. Antlion, “ if I’m ever going to be worthy of the 
name of Christian, it is high time I woke up. Come 
now, ‘ As for me and mv house we will serve the 
Lord’ in right good earnest, by the Lord’s help. No 
more dead-and-alive, sleepy service for me.” 

Agnes looked at the earnest face of her uncle, and 
saw also the joy sparkling in her mother’s eyes. She 
felt this was a hope she did not cherish, an interest 
that had no place within her heart. 

The remarks of Mrs. Antlion had opened Mr. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


211 


MacPherson’s eyes to the fact that he might be in a 
fair way to spoil his niece. He considered her youth 
and inexperience, and saw plainly that it was better 
for her to return to her ordinary quiet life. 

“No more boarding-school for you, Agnes,” he 
said to her. “You must have another six months 
or so of hard study ; but let it be in some school in 
the city, for we have here the very best, and you can 
live at home. There is no instruction can make up 
*o you for lack of your mother’s care and advice.” 

“I am sure I do not want to go away from mother 
again,” said Agnes : and very soon after this she was 
busy with her studies in one of the best schools near 
her home. 

Mr. MacPherson’s name having been quite freely 
mentioned in the affair of the escaped nun, Mr. Kemp 
remembered that the MacPhersons of Edinburgh had 
been related to his mother’s family, and finding that 
this MacPherson was a man of wealth, was sure he 
must be a cousin, distant one or two removes. Mr. 
Kemp had become a Romanist purely from political 
motives. It was not to be supposed that, when he 
might strengthen his social position and increase his 
acquaintance by searching out relationship with a 
man of fortune, he would hesitate because that per- 
son was inimical to Popery and utterly odious in the 
eyes of the priest. Accordingly he called on Mr. 


212 


PRIEST AND NUN 


MacPherson, and proved conclusively that they were 
relatives and should be the best possible friends. 
And now arose Mr. Kemp’s first trouble from priestly 
interference in his family. He wished his wife and 
daughters to call on Mrs. Anthon and Agnes; but 
this . Father Murphy positively forbade them to do. 
Again, Mr. Kemp insisted on inviting Mr. Mac- 
Pherson to dinner, but when he came the lady of the 
house pleaded headache and could not appear at 
dinner. Adelaide and Grace were also absent, having 
unaccountably remained at the convent. So, while 
the table was covered with dainties and admirably 
served, the dinner-party consisted of a dull trio— 
Mr. Kemp, Mr. MacPherson and Richard — the first 
angry, the second surprised and the third wickedly 
delighted. 

“ One of the ways your priest has of proving true 
the Scripture, ‘A man’s foes shall be they of his 
own household,’ ” whispered Richard to his father. 

After dinner the young gentleman went to his 
mother’s dressing-room to pay his respects to her. 
She was lying comfortably on a lounge and reading a 
novel. 

“ I presume your illness is more mental than 
physical, as I see you are taking literature as a 
remedy ?” said Rick. 

Mrs. Kemp bit her lip and dropped her book. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


213 


“I hope you tried the truffles, as they were ex- 
ceedingly nice, and fish, flesh and fowl were too good 
to miss,” continued Richard, settling himself in a chair. 

“ Certainly ; I intended to have everything in good 
style, even though I was too much indisposed to en- 
joy it myself,” said Mrs. Kemp. 

“ You see now how impossible, and how exceed- 
ingly unpleasant, it would have been for me to look 
upon that matter about Lilly as you did,” said Rick 
the unconquerable. “ In case she were my wife, her 
priest would order her to have headaches half the 
time on account of my friends.” 

“ Dear me, son Richard ! you speak as if you had 
been quite sure of Lilly,” said Mrs. Kemp, impa- 
tiently. 

“It was Father Murphy I would need to be sure 
of — Lilly must have done just as she was bid,” said 
Rick. 

“ Let us say no more about it,” said Mrs. Kemp. 

“ You lost a great deal by not meeting MacPher- 
son,” rattled on Richard. “ He’s a prime article in 
the line of society. And there’s Miss Agnes — she is 
a grand girl, I assure you. Your convents form none 
such. She can argue like a man, and does her own 
thinking. She hasn’t been kept skimming the sur- 
face of a dozen paltry acquirements all her life, but 
what she has studied she has learned.” 


214 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Wicked Richard! He knew this praise wai “as 
vinegar to the teeth and smoke to the eyelids !” 

About this time, under the calm seeming of the 
Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary a tempest 
was brewing. Although the Missouri nun had es- 
caped as a bird from the snare of the fowler, yet she 
counted but one, and whatever money she brought to 
Mother Rome remained there. She was one nun 
gone, and the circumstances were aggravating. Now, 
however, a more serious loss threatened, and Mother 
Robart and Father Murphy gathered their forces to 
prevent it. 

First, a Jesuit brother from the Belen of Havana 
arrived and brought news to Father Murphy that 
Martin Wynford had become very fond of the 
Brothers and their religion — dangerously so, his 
father thought — and on this account Mr. Wynford 
had removed him from the institution, saying he 
“ did not intend to have his children made fanatics.” 

Next a letter arrived for Estelle from her father, 
bidding her mind her books, let the priests alone and 
not get her head turned on the subject of religion, 
as the pleasures of the world were before her. 
This letter found its grave in Mother Robart’s 
pocket. 

We must here revert to the fact that Mr. Wynford 
despised all religious feeling, and would have used 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


216 


these same measures had he supposed his children in 
danger of being converted to any faith whatever. 

In the new schemes now developed by Father 
Murphy and Mother Hobart, Lilly’s trusty maid, the 
excellent Annette, was needed elsewhere. Her 
mission at Mrs. Schuyler’s was accomplished. Lilly’s 
fate was fixed. Hannah could not be ousted. In 
increasing distress, Mrs. Schuyler turned more and 
more to her Bible and her God, and therefore more 
and more from Rome. As Annette must go, Mother 
Robart suggested that Lilly should take Ann Mora j; 
whom a slight lameness prevented from filling any 
but an easy situation, and have her trained to waif 
upon her. * 

“ I am so sorry to lose you, Annette !” said Lilly. 

“ Thank you, miss, I am sorry enough to go, but J 
have a letter that my mother is dying, and go ] 
must,” said Annette, weeping. 

An hour after Annette started “ to see her dying 
mother,” she was, to all outward appearance, hanging 
i n the wall of an upper room in the House Without 
a Name, and Sister Clement was busy over em- 
broidery and “ exercises.” Lilly would never have 
recognized Sister Clement as Annette; but she would 
doubtless have been amazed to see Annette’s hair, 
bonnet, coat, dress and false teeth suspended on the 
otherwise bare wall of a nun’s cell. 


216 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


At night, Mother Ignatia, haggard, wretched, 
ghost-haunted and sin-burdened still, left the House 
Without a Name, accompanied by Sister Clement, 
and the two glided like black spectres toward the 
Convent of the Immaculate Heart. Hid any deluded 
Protestant meet them, we suppose he concluded they 
were going on some blessed errand of mercy. After 
a while, Father Douay came up and walked silently 
before them — a third in this expedition of heavenly 
charity. Tlius they reached the convent and entered 
Mother Robart’s private room. 

The matter in hand was this : Mr. Wynford would 
return in six months to the United States, and would 
then undoubtedly take Estelle from the convent. 
He might endeavor so to remove her before his re- 
turn. To please the nuns, and personally with 
entire carelessness and indifference, Estelle had 
already received baptism, communion and confirma- 
tion. She therefore belonged to the Roman Catholic 
Church; they claimed her, mind, body and estate. 
A nd yet in blind, hardened America the law would 
inevitably insist upon her father’s right to her. What 
was to be done? The first measures were to prevent 
her being taken at once from the convent. Mother 
Hobart considered what she should do in the event 
of any third party being sent to place Estelle in some 
other school ; and to allay the father’s apprehensions, 


PRIEST AND NUN 


21 ? 


Saint Cecelia was called upon to write a letter, in 
close imitation of Estelle’s hand, and in reply to the 
one the Abbess had not seen fit to give to Estelle. 
In this forged letter Estelle would be supposed to tell 
her father of her increasing accomplishments, of her 
entire indifference to the religion of her school, of the 
admirable silence maintained by the Sisters on this 
subject, and of her own eager expectations of the 
time when he should introduce her to the gay world. 

“The girl’s parent,” said the excellent Father 
Murphy, “ is an atheist, and that is the same as being 
a Jew or a Protestant; it completely unfits him for 
being the guardian of this child.” 

“ Estelle has been baptized,” said Mother Hobart, 
“ and is therefore a member * and a ward of the true 
Church, and we are bound to protect her spiritual 
interests. She is now by baptism entirely made 
over and born again into the holy kingdom, and can 
be compelled by force, if need be, to keep the unity 
of the faith and submit to the authority of the 
Church.” * 

“Courts of law acknowledge in parents in ali 
cases a guardianship over the child,” said Father 
Douay, “ but ecclesiastical law — which is much 
higher authority — holds that the child is free, from 
its earliest reason, to submit to the Church, without 
* Brownson’s Review, July. 1864, p. 267. 


218 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


regard to the wishes of the parent, and such sab* 
mission once made must be maintained.”* 

“Yes,” said Father Murphy, the autocrat of the 
occasion, “we must maintain the liberty of our 
daughter Estelle’s conscience.” 

“ Liberty of her conscience !” gasped Saint Cecelia, 
too greatly amazed to keep silence. 

“Do you not know,” said Mother Robart with 
severity, “ that Father Hecker, in his excellent work 
on Liberty of Conscience, defines it as the 6 right to 
embrace, profess and practice the Catholic religion ?’ ”f 

“ I am so ignorant !” said Saint Cecelia, meekly. 

“ I should think you were,” whispered Saint 
Clement with malice. 

“ The question of i right’ in this case,” said the 
Abbess Robart, “ is one no reasonable person would 
dispute.” 

“ It would not be mentioned in any but these vile 
Protestant countries,” said Father Douay, tartly. 

“And,” said Father Murphy, with a sardonic 
simile, “ in this land there is yet civil law/* 

“Surely,” said the sepulchral voice of Mother 
Ignatia, who had not before spoken, “tlirre is not 
one of us who will not dare any consequence* to obey 
the holy Church ?” 

* For similar views see Catholic World for July, Utto. 
f " Plea for Liberty of Conscience,” pp. 226-233 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


219 


“ There are no consequences to be dared,” said 
Father Murphy. “ We can win a lawsuit if we have 
to sustain one. Have you never heard of supreme 
judges promising their interest to the Church as the 
price of their election ? I have.” * And he opened 
his mouth wide for a noiseless laugh that shook his 
sides. 

“ If,” said Madam Robart, “ we are all determined 
that this thing shall be, there remains only for us to 
discuss the ‘ how/ ” 

Now Mother Robart and Father Murphy were 
given to relieving the weariness of all difficult ques- 
tions by discussing them oVer a dish piled high with 
tropic fruits, a solid silver basket of rich cake, and 
fragile little glasses of Italian wines, imported by the 
Superior herself “ for sacramental purposes.” But 
to-night the presence of Father Douay, Mother 
Ignatia and Clement hindered such refections. It 
was certainly trying. 

Mother Robart remarked : “ Estelle’s chief inherit- 
ance will be from her maternal grandfather. He is 
very old and lives in a villa some eight or ten miles 
from Civita V eccliia, in Italy. I have his address 
from Estelle.” 

“It is fortunate,” said Father Douay, “that 1 

* See page 123 of “ Abduction of M. A. Smith.” By Kev. H. 
Mattison, D. D. 


220 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


know the priest in that neighborhood — a very zealous 
son of the Church.” 

“ The grandfather is old and a good Catholic,” 
said Mother Ignatia. “ It is, then, only the fathei 
that stands in our way, and the seas are broad and 
storms and fevers are plenty, and it is easy for men to 
die — they die so many in a little time.” 

She groaned and struck her bosom, and looked 
fearfully over either shoulder, as if dreading that 
near her stood some terrible shapes. 

As the result of this utterance and action, Mother 
Hobart looked resigned to some severe infliction. 
Saint Clement and Fattier Murphy were evidently 
impatient and Saint Cecelia curious. 

“ We need not trust to such events,” said Father 
Murphy. “ Some men have nine lives, like a cat 
and I have always noticed that if there is a man you 
want out of the way, he is the very one endowed in 
that fashion.” 

“ This is an evil and ill-governed country,” snarled 
Father Douay. 

“Ah, well, we must wait for better times —they 
are com big,” said Father Murphy, cheerfully. 

“We must make our plan,” said Mother Hobart, 
decidedly. An excellent business woman was Mother 
Hobart, whom nothing could divert from the main 
issues. “T do not see my way clearly.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


221 


“ Daughter Clement some time since informed me 
she had gained some light on this subject of Estelle,” 
said Father Murphy. 

Mother Hobart looked at her haughtily. How 
disgraceful that Sister Clement should have light 
denied to Superior Hobart. 

“ 1 shall nov r get sent on a mission to Europe/ 
thought Saint Clement. 

“ I shall most certainly put that nun dov r n — she is 
too forward,” said Mother Hobart to herself. 

“We are waiting for you, daughter Clement,” 
said Father Douay. 

Sister Saint Cecelia was nearly dying of jealousy. 

“ To lay my humble and worthless view's before 
my spiritual superiors,” said Clement, with a low 
reverence, “ is a duty I perform with lowliness and 
confusion of face. Let me suggest then to this holy 
company, before which I stand unworthy, that Estelle 
is not Mr. Wynford’s daughter.” She looked around 
with covert triumph and proceeded in terse sentences : 
“ Her mother was a widow. The first, husband was 
Estelle’s father. Estelle is a year older than repre- 
sented to us. Mr. Wynford is not her rightful guar- 
dian. Her grandfather is her natural guardian, and 
can delegate his authority to these reverend Fathers 
and Mothers. We can obtain waitings from the old 
grandfather. We can make out this case.” 

19 * 


222 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“And if we fail?” said Mother Hobart, piqued. 

“ We thought we were right, and accept the strongei 
evidence,” said Father Murphy, with a smile. 

“ It needs then some one to convince the old grand- 
father of this, and to obtain the testimony of the 
child’s first nurse, the registers of the two marriages 
and of the girl’s birth, all certified,” said Mother 
Hobart, rapidly. 

“To obtain all this,” said Father Douay, “we 
must send an agent over, to return with all speed, 
having accomplished what we need. In those blessed 
lands — France and Italy — the Church can obtain 
certified copies of whatever she needs.” 

“And a nun would be a less suspected agent than a 
priest,” said Father Murphy. 

“ I offer my humble services to finish the work I 
have been able to begin,” said Saint Clement, with 
ill-judged haste. 

“Your services are far more valuable in this 
country,” said Mother Hobart, coldly. “ I suggest 
as our envoy Saint Lorette — a French Sister, pious 
and wise, accustomed to travel, speaking foreign lan- 
guages with facility and in every way suitable for 
this mission.” 

Thus Mother Hobart circumvented poor Saint 
Clement. It was a small game, unworthy of her 
magnificent abilities ; and the disappointment tc 


PRIEST AND NUN 


22a 


Clement was excruciating, like the very pangs of 
death — she had so set her heart on going and re- 
turning triumphant. 

Soon after this convent-council, Lorette went on 
her mission fully armed, and in due time returned 
successful. Meanwhile, Estelle abode a pupil at the 
Immaculate Heart, ignorant of all these snares that 
were laid for her, and Mr. Wynford was still abroad, 
though on his homeward voyage. 

Let us pause here in our story, and dropping (for 
mce only) into statistics, show how easily in one city 
of the United States these Jesuit plotters might have 
been able to carry any case. Take warning, Ameri- 
cans all ! The City of New York has, or recently 
had, these Roman Catholic officers : “ Sheriff, Register, 
Controller, City Chamberlain, Corporation Counsel, 
Police Commissioner, President of the Croton Board, 
Acting Mayor, President of the Board of Aldermen, 
President of the Board of Councilmen, Clerl* of the 
Common Council, Clerk of Supervisors, five Justices 
of the Courts of Record, all the Civil Justices, all the 
Police Justices but two, all the Police Court Clerks, 
three out of four Coroners, fourteen-nineteenths of the 
Common Council and eight-tenths of the Super- 
visors.* 

Now we do not mean you to infer that our story is 

* Extract from statistics published in the New Yo^k Hei aid. 


224 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


iaid in New York. This is only given as a sample 
of how Home is winning the day. 

When Mr. Wynford returned home, he was refused 
his daughter. He then sued out a writ of habeas 
corpus , and in obedience to said writ, Mother Hobart 
appeared before the court and respectfully showed 
that the Estelle Wynford in said writ mentioned is 
in very deed Estelle Latrelli, committed to the care 
of Mother Hobart by her natural guardian, her ma- 
ternal grandfather, in proof whereof, etc., etc. 

Madam Hobart’s counsel had plenty of certified 
copies of registers made in Italy. He had a priest’s 
statement on oath, a nurse’s statement, and lo ! to 
complete the evidence, Saint Lorette testified that in 
the days of her youth she was the late Mrs. Wyn- 
ford’s maid and knew all about everything. The 
counsel also showed that Estelle does not resemble 
her pretended parent. 

Astonished Mr. Wynford has no proofs of anything 
on hand. He swears most civilly and righteously 
that Estelle is his daughter. But two or three other 
people swear most civilly and unrighteously against 
him. Estelle in anguish cries, “He is my father; 
he is — he is ; I know he is ; let me go to him !” has 
hysterics and gets sympathy from many. But 
Mother Kobart wins her case, showing no triumph, 
only an apparent deep sense of duty, and Estelle is 


PRIEST AND NUN 


225 


carried off to the convent. Her father is a wi etched 
and amazed man, and all his friends — though, being 
a stranger in a strange land, he has but few- — are in- 
dignant and ready with advice and encouragement, 
urging him to carry up the case and destroy all this 
false testimony and save his little daughter. 

Richard was his strong partisan, and frequently 
his wrath boiled over. Mr. Kemp was laid up with 
gout just now and Richard attended to his business 
at the office. Mr. Kemp’s friends came to console the 
invalid — as, for example, Rick, going to consult his 
father, found Father Murphy by his sofa, taking a 
hand at cards. 

“ Oh,” said Richard, drawing back, “ I beg your 
pardon. I was not aware that you were receiving 
spiritual consolation” He went into the adjoining 
room, where Mrs. Kemp was seated by a window 
sewing, and flung himself into a chair. Presently, 
Father Murphy passed through the hall, and Mr. 
Kemp came slowly into the parlor occupied by his 
wife and son, evidently much vexed, and said, 
sharply, 

“ Richard, you are allowed many liberties and take 
many, but I consider your remark just now an insult 
to Father Murphy and myself.” 

“ Perhaps it was. As far as you’re concerned, 
pray excuse it,” replied Richard. “ But I longed for 


226 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


liberty to collar that priest and put him out of the 
house. Fm heated red hot on that subject just now. 
I have come from MacPherson’s, where Mr. Wyn- 
ford is staying, as unhappy a man as ever I saw. To 
think that those perjured fiends should take his 
child from him !” and the young man sprang up and 
began pacing the room in high excitement. 

“ Richard, Richard ! what shocking language !” 
cried Mrs. Kemp, dropping her work. 

“ Those are rash accusations, sir ; have a care !” 
said his father. “ The case was fairly tried in open 
court before a learned judge, and the evidence all 
proved that the girl was not his, and that he had no 
legal right to her.” 

“ Evidence !” cried Richard, fiercely. “ And what 
kind of evidence? Collected by that pair of ras- 
cals, Douay and Murphy, after they knew what was 
wanted. I believe in my soul it was fabricated evi- 
dence, every word of it.” 

“ Richard,” said Mrs. Kemp, with unwonted firm- 
ness, “ I cannot allow you to allege such crimes 
against holy priests and nuns — crimes at which the 
most hardened reprobates would tremble — perjury 
and — well, child-stealing in effect — State’s prison 
offences ! and you lay them to the charge of holy 
Orders!” 

“ And, ma’am, if you please, what was it they 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


227 


played off on Father Chiniquy not long ago? Did 
not two witnesses swear point-blank against him 
what would put him in the penitentiary? and was 
not their evidence capable of being proven to be 
atrocious perjury, paid for by a priest ? How ready 
they were to withdraw their suit, pay charges and 
make apologies. I tell you, ma’am, it is an out- 
rageous system of fraud, and here’s a case in point. 
A father is robbed of his child. You should see how 
it has furrowed his face and turned his hair gray. 
It makes my heart ache for him.” 

“ Come, come, Rick,” said Mr. Kemp, settling him- 
self in the chair his son had abandoned, “ this is all 
enthusiasm. You’re young and excitable. Your 
feelings do you credit perhaps, yet you are old 
enough now to lay aside mere feeling. Don’t you 
know it is the poorest kind of policy to vote with 
the losing side ?” he asked with a grin. 

“ That your example has always taught me, but I 
decline the lesson,” retorted Richard. “ Here’s a 
miserable wrong done that my heart bleeds to think 
over. To see, in this country , a man robbed of his 
child, groaning and weeping, utterly unmanned by 
the cruel blow! This is his reward for putting faith 
in Rome. Faith in Rome! When will people learn 
better?” 

Richard was full to overflowing with indignation 


228 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ I hope you do not think we shall let this Estelle 
ease drop?” said he, angrily. “MacPherson and 
Wynford and I will carry it on to the death.” 

“ I don’t see what you have to do with it,” said 
Mr. Kemp. “ Don’t play with edged tools.” 

“No, indeed,” replied his son, “it will be no 
play, I can tell you. I’ll pick them up and use 
them. And as to my having anything to do with it, 
it is with a righteous intention of seeing a bitter 
wrong righted.” 

“After all,” said Mr. Kemp, coolly, “ what is the 
difference? A father cannot expect to keep his 
daughters always. It is only giving her up a little 
sooner than he expected, and he must know she is 
well off and perfectly safe.” 

“You will talk less calmly about it if the question 
ever comes up concerning your girl,” said Richard. 

“ My girl ! impossible !” said Mr. Kemp. 

“ Of course it is,” said Mrs. Kemp. “ Everybody 
knows us.” 

“ If it does not come up one way, it may in 
another,” said Richard. 

“There, there! you are perfectly rabid, Rick. 
Give me a cushion for my foot and let the matter 
drop,” said Mr. Kemp. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Kemp, in her easy tone, “ I am 
rare I am sorry for Mr. Wynford. Of course he and 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


229 


Estelle are fond of each other, and it is hard for them 
to part. But I am sure Sister Margaret and Father 
Murphy are certain of their ground — feel that they 
are doing right, and regard it as a matter of positive 
duty. If it were proved that they were mistaken, 
they would not try to keep the girl one hour. If 
Mr. Wynford can establish his assertions, he had 
better do it; but Fm afraid the perjury will then 
come in play. There, there, son Rick ! I did not 
mean to irritate you. Sit down an l tell me what 
you are going to do. That will relieve your mind, 
so you can take us peaceably to the theatre to-night, 
as your father is laid up by his gout.” 

“As to telling you what we mean to do,” said 
Richard, “ would that be wise when you belong to 
the other side, and go to confession pretty often?” 
Having relieved himself by this last explosion, Rich- 
ard added: “As to the theatre, Fll escort you there 
with all pleasure.” 


20 


CHAPTER III. 


THE WHITE VEIL . 

Cl FEW weeks after the events just narrated, Mr 
II Wynford sailed for Europe, leaving his son 
Martin in charge of Mr. MacPherson. 

“ The lad is priest-bitten,” said the Scot to Rich- 
ard. “I see it in his eye and hear it in his tone; 
but I told him Fd have none of that nonsense. I’ve 
placed him in a good sound Protestant school, and 1 
take him to church with me as a Protestant should ; 
but, after all, Pm afraid he’s like a deaf adder — his 
ears are stopped up with RomaniSm.” 

Richard, too, had his doubts about Martin, for 
once or twice he saw him coming from the house of 
Father Murphy or Father Douay. Martin, how- 
ever, excused himself by saying he had been trying 
to get information of Estelle. Richard was anxious 
for news from Estelle. He had espoused Mr. Wyn- 
ford’s cause with ardor. He knew that the distracted 
father was now in Europe trying to collect evidence 
to vindicate the truth ; and yet, should he succeed, 

230 


PRIEST AND NUN 


231 


hi might return to this country to find that his child 
had been spirited away. 

“ There are a thousand ways,” said Richard to 
Mr. MacPherson. “They can swear she has es- 
caped, or get up a bogus death and interment. I 
doubt if he finds her again.” 

Richard had by this time been given over as a 
reprobate by his aunt, the Abbess, and was no longer 
allowed the privilege of calling at the convent. He 
endeavored to learn something about Estelle from 
Grace and Adelaide, who were yet pupils part of 
each day at the Immaculate Heart of Mary. He 
first questioned Grace : 

“ Have you seen Estelle lately, Grace ?” 

“ No, she is sick,” said Grace. 

“ What did she say about the trial ?” 

Grace looked away, without reply. 

“ What is the matter with Estelle? How long has 
she been ill ?” 

Still no answer. 

“ Grace, don’t you think this is a horrible affair to 
take that poor girl from her father? Come, now, 
tell me something about her. Would you like to be 
kept a prisoner, as she is ?” 

“I can’t tell you, Richard; don’t ask me,” said 
Grace, hastily. “I hate to think of this. We have 


232 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


been forbidden to speak of it, and Father Murphy 
will ask me.” 

She pulled away from her brother with teal’s in her 
eyes. 

“ They’re spoiling a rare girl in you, Grace,” said 
Kichard. 

His next attempt was with Adelaide. 

“Adelaide, I w T ant you to tell me something about 
Estelle.” 

“ Why don’t you ask Grace ?” said Adelaide. 

“ I have, and she says she has been forbidden tc 
reply.” 

“And don’t you suppose I have been forbidden 
too?” 

“ It remains to be seen if you will obey. Come, 
Adelaide, tell me what you know, and I’ll give you 
that set of pearls and turquoise you looked at yester^ 
day.” 

“ Bribing me, are you ?” said Adelaide. 

“ Yes, if you’ll take a bribe. I began years ago 
on bon-bons, and you know you have encouraged 
me.” 

“ Mind, I hold you to your bargain, though my 
information will not be worth much. What do you 
want me to tell you?” 

“ What did Estelle say on the question at the 
trial?” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


233 


“ Why, she said he was her father, and she said it 
so freely that the Sisters kept her away from the 
other girls.” 

“And how did she feel over the decision?” 

“ It’s my belief,” said Adelaide, “ that her distress 
has thrown her into a brain fever. But the Sisters 
never say a word about her, and we are not allowed 
to see her.” 

“ Bo you think they have taken her away from the 
'Heart?’ ” 

“ No, I think she’s there.” 

“ Well, finally, what do you suppose they are going 
to do with her ?” 

“ Make a nun of her,” said Adelaide, lightly. 
“She’s got money. Father Murphy don’t want 
Grace and me — we’re not rich enough.” 

“ Thank God for that !” said Richard. “ Do you 
want that jewelry ?” 

“Yes, indeed. Mind you bring it to-night,” cried 
the girl. 

“Then I must get Grace the same to prevent 
questioning.” 

“ H’m-m,” said Adelaide ; “ she gets the pay and I 
do the work.” 

“ Surely these few answers were but little work.” 

“ Ah, but Father Murphy is so suspicious. 1 shall 
have to tell him a dozen lies next time I confess.” 


234 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ I’m sorry for that,” said Richard. 

“ I don’t mind it,” said Adelaide, flippantly* 
“ I’ve been brought up to it.” 

“ Yes,” groaned Richard. “ That’s the vay Rome 
trains up girls, and what sort of women will they 
turn out ?” 

Richard found himself very much entangled in 
the toils of Romanism just now, and raged inwardly. 
He had joined Mr. Wynford’s cause with all the 
ardor of a generous, clear-sighted young man. He 
believed that Martin was deceiving his father and 
Mr. MacPherson, his guardian pro tem ., and yet he 
could not prove it. He was now seized by his aunt 
Schuyler in her agony of despair, and felt as tram- 
meled and as exhausted as if he were swimming in a 
drowning man’s death-grip. 

The return of spring was bringing to Mrs. Schuy- 
ler a new installment of woe. Lilly was about to 
take the white veil. 

By turns the heartbroken mother implored the 
two guardians of her child. Father Murphy urged 
her not to hinder her daughter of heaven — not to 
endeavor to thwart her dearest and holiest aspira- 
tions. Mr. Kemp said he could not interpose in a 
clear case of conscience. His niece inust be happy 
in her own way ; she was old enough to choose for 
herself. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


235 


f Lilly, besought by every filial feeling and in every 
term of maternal endearment, would weep and wring 
her hands on account of her poor mother’s grief. 
Yet she would claim that she must be the “ Bride of 
Heaven” or lose her soul, and would implore her 
mother, even on her knees, to turn from heresy, 
yield to Rome — that one sacred, eternal and infallible 
Church; having done which, she would joyfully give 
Lilly to her “ vocation.” 

The widow was in a sad strait. She had never 
loved the world, and had few friends or acquaintances 
outside of her own household. Her family had many 
of them become Romanists ; her brother was taking 
sides against her ; her child, weak, enthusiastic and 
obstinate, was being forced from her. Hannah, her 
faithful maid, alone stood by her. She reached for 
some other human helper, and grasped her nephew 
Richard. 

Richard truly loved his aunt. He thought her a 
weak woman, whose weakness had all her life be- 
trayed her own highest interests. But he knew 
her to be amiable, lovely and good. She was such 
as his boyish memories had pictured his own mother. 
She W'as the only one who would tell him long rem- 
iniscences of that mother. Yes, he vns fond of 
his aunt Schuyler, and she was now wronged and 
cheated. 


236 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Bat what could Richard do ? He could appeal to 
Lilly for one thing, and that he did, though as Lilly, 
ever obeying orders, habitually shunned him, it was 
difficult to find an opportunity. Richard persisted, 
however, and one day found her at the piano in the 
drawing-room. He went promptly to her, turned 
her gently about on the music-stool, and drawing a 
chair in front of her, sat down, saying, 

“ There now, Lilly ! you must not run away this 
time. Your cousin Richard is not such a heathen as 
they make him out to be. See, I am a peaceable, 
well-meaning individual. Lilly, do you love your 
mother ?” 

“ Why, Richard ! what a question ! ” said Lilly 
tearful at once. 

“ Do you owe her any duty — your first duty ?” 

“ Of course I owe her duty, and I am glad to 
admit it, but not my first duty, Richard ; that I owe 
to God.” 

“ And do the demands of God and your mother 
conflict?” 

“ The wishes of my mother and the demands of 
the Church — which is the kingdom of God on earth 
— do conflict ; but I believe, yes, I am sure, that if 
I am true to duty, my mother will be led to her duty, 
and agree to all the Church requires,” said this child 
of Romanism. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


237 


“ I do not come here to argue with you, Lilly,” 
said Richard. “To argue with you would be to 
argue with your priest. But you have a heart, and 
I cannot believe that your priests have destroyed all 
its tenderness. If you persist in forsaking your 
mother by becoming a nun, you will kill her. I 
tell you, Lilly, she is now a heartbroken woman. 
The seeds of death have fallen upon her life, sown 
by your hand. Oh, Lilly, were she my mother, I 
would not so grieve her for the world. When you 
have lost her, little cousin, you will begin to know 
her worth.” 

Lilly’s face and neck flushed crimson in the effort 
to refrain from a passionate burst of weeping. Tears 
trembled in her eyes as she struggled to reply : “ It is 
not so, Cousin Rick; it cannot be so. I love my 
mother and I love her soul. Father Murphy says 
that if I despise my duty and neglect my ‘ vocation/ 
my mother and I will lead careless lives and die 
without hope of salvation ; but if I am firm and do 
right, my dear mother will then be convinced of her 
error, she will be saved as the reward of my sacrifice, 
she will come into the convent for refuge, and 
together we shall spend our lives in that holy 
home.” 

“Lillj, do you believe this?” cried Richard. 

“Yes, Richard, I do believe it as surely as I be- 


238 


PRIEST AND NUN 


lieve I am living and speaking to you. Father 
Murphy says so” 

Lilly spoke as earnestly and reverentially as if she 
were quoting the very voice of God. 

Richard smote his hands together as an emphasis, 
saying, “ Well does the Bible describe them: ‘For 
this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead 
captive silly women.’ ” 

This was not very polite of Richard, but Lilly was 
too absorbed in the main issues to take offence. 

“ The Bible, Rick ?” she questioned. 

“Yes, Lilly, the Bible. I read it, careless fellow 
as I am; and I tell you it describes what these 
priests are doing with you exactly, and Christ him- 
self condemns it. Listen: ‘For Moses said, Honor 
thy father and thy mother ; . . . . but ye say, If a 
man shall say to his father or mother, it is Corban, 
that is to say, a gift, by whatsoever thou mightest be 
profited by me, .... ye suffer him no more to do 
aught for his father or his mother.’ Yov r , Lilly, that 
is what your nuns and priests are doing. They do not 
say to you as God’s law says, ‘ Honor thy mother,’ 
but bid you make of yourself a gift, to profit her 
soul, and henceforth will let you do nothing more for 
her. Lilly, if she comes to die alone, brokenhearted, 
you will see you have been wrong.” 

“You need not quote the Bible to me, Rick,” said 


PRIEST AND NUN . 


239 


Lilly, what hardness she was capable of impressing 
itself upon her fair face, and the obstinacy she had 
heired from somewhere calming her voice and drying 
her eyes. “ The Bible cannot be understood except 
by bishops and learned priests. You need not quote 
it to me, for, in the first place, yours is a heretic 
Bible, and in the next place, you cannot explain it 
properly.” 

Richard pushed back his chair and rose. 

“ Lilly,” he said, gravely, “ you have not gone to 
destruction umvarned.” 

He left the house, saying to himself, 

“ She has been filled with their lies, until she is no 
more capable of judging for herself than if she had 
oeen drugged.” 

He then went to his father’s office, where he found 
that worthy alone, his chair tilted back, his feet on 
the window sill, enjoying a meerschaum and the daily 
paper. 

“ I’m like the good fairy in old tales, come to give 
you your second warning,” said Richard. “ Three, you 
know, are all you’ll get, and then the ruin comes.” 

“ Hul-lo !” cried Mr. Kemp, starting up so vio- 
lently that his chair fell over and his pipe upset, 
“ are stocks in that oil well of ours falling ?” 

“Ko, no,” said Richard; “they were rising this 
morning. I am thinking of Lilly.” 


240 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ Oh, Lilly ? Bother on it, Rick ; you’ve made me 
lose a pipe full of the best kind of tobacco, and cracK 
this chair-back in the bargain. What’s wrong witn 
Lilly ?” 

“It is wrong enough. To see a girl like that de- 
luded into a conventual life,” said Richard, “and a 
mother deprived by men of her only child is a hard 
matter. It is akin to swearing a man’s daughter 
away from him.” 

“ Oh, you haven’t got over that ,” said Mr. Kemp, 
coolly resuming his former position with refilled pipe. 
“ I do not know but a convent is a very good place, 
and it is not my duty to prevent Lilly being happy 
in her own way, you see.” 

“ I wander, sir, that you do not see what a blighr 
and desolation these nuns and priests make wherever 
they go. If they pass through a home, they leave 
the trail of the serpent over every good thing in it. 
What country have they ever ruled that has not 
withered and become effete under their influence? 
See what it is doing about us. There’s Lilly, going 
to be lost to herself, her mother and society. There’s 
Aunt Schuyler — all the sister you have, sir — going to 
die before her time of pure grief. There’s Grace, she 
might be just as splendid a girl as Agnes Anthon if 
the nuns didn’t dwarf her. There’s Adelaide — we 
shall have trouble ahead with her — the girl is utterly 




PRIEST AND NUN. 


241 


reckless and untruthful. She knows no law but hei 
own fancies, and yet she, is as bright and pretty a girl 
as there is in the city.” 

“Why, you’re putting it pretty strong, Richard,” 
said Mr. Kemp, indolently. 

“ It is time it was put ‘ strong/ ” said Richard. 
“ Romanism is robbing parents of their children, 
husbands of their wives, is arming men from one 
end of the country to the other, is subverting tlm 
law and making the civil oath a nullity. Under its 
touch our progress, our happiness, our liberties, will 
crumble to ashes like Ginevra’s hair.” 

“ EL !” said Mr. Kemp, looking up, “ what was 
that story of Ginevra’s hair ? I’ve forgotten.” 

“Her hair, sir, crumbled to ashes as soon as a 
monk lav l his hand on it.” 

“Oh yes. Very well put, Rick, very. Would 
tell in a political speech. But don’t get over-ex- 
cited, Richard, and run things into the ground. 
That was a start you gave me coming in; I’m 
not over it yet. And your warning was about 
Lilly?” 

“Yes, sir. I told you Uncle Schuyler’s will set a 
wolf to guard a lamb ; that was one warning. She is 
going to take the White Veil ; here is warning num- 
ber tico. The wolf has his mouth open and the lamb 
in his paws.” 

21 


Q 


242 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“Very good, very good,” laughed Mr. Kemp. 
*' When you run for Congress you’ll need nobody to 
get up your speeches. You have quite a knack at 
the thing.” 

Richard retired disgusted. 

Between Grace Kemp and Agnes Anthon there 
had been from their first acquaintance a sincere 
friendship. Now that Lilly had chosen a path so 
apart from her own, and that an unspoken separation 
and evil influence between herself and Adelaide was 
widening day by day, Grace felt more deeply the 
need of Agnes’ companionship. This, however, was 
forbidden her by her priest. She was to have no 
intercourse with Agnes — no visiting, no books, no 
notes must pass between them, and on these points 
Father Murphy questioned her closely. Mr. Kemp 
deemed it expedient to cultivate Mr. MacPherson’s 
friendship and attach him to his family. Mrs. 
Kemp unalterably refused to have anything to do 
with them ; but Mr. Kemp considered Grace under 
his own control, and desired her to be intimate with 
Agnes. 

“ Mr. Kemp, I’m surprised at you !” said his wife. 
“Father Murphy decidedly forbids the girls asso- 
ciating with Agnes. She is in his opinion a very 
improper acquaintance.” 

“ But I do not forbid them, and I expect to be 


PRIEST AND NUN 


243 


chief authority in such matters in my own house,” 
said Mr. Kemp. 

“J must obey Father Murphy, and refuse Adelaide 
such companions,” said Mrs. Kemp, flushing. 

“ I shall not interfere with your rights over Ade^ 
laide” said Mr. Kemp, “ though it is a pity that you 
regard your priest’s whims more than your husband’s 
interests ; but I wish Agnes to be well received when 
she com.es here.” 

“ It must be by Grace then,” interrepted Mrs. 
Kemp, with that persistency which a small mind can 
show about trifles. 

“ And I expect Grace to visit at Mr. MacPherson’s 
and male herself agreeable there. I hope, Richard, 
that you find attractions there.” 

“I certainly do,” said Richard, for this contro- 
versy had occurred at the dinner-table, “and I am 
glad that you expect Grace to exercise some freedom 
of choice as to her friends.” 

“ Freedom of choice ? why I choose for her,” said 
Mr. Kemp. 

“Oh, I see; you choose instead of Father Mur- 
phy. I dare say Grace will thank you for the se- 
lection, for she is really very fond of Miss Agnes.” 

“Hereafter, Grace,” said Mr. Kemp, “I desire 
you to consult me, and not Father Murphy, about 
your friends. I consider myself quite as capable of 


244 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


directing you as any priest, and I shall be head of 
my own family. If I am a Roman Catholic, I do 
not expect to be a mere tool in a priest’s hands. 
That will do for John Mora and Michael Shinn/’ 

Grace’s inclinations and her natural independence 
of character urged her to reject Father Murphy’s in- 
terference about her intimacy with Agnes. Her 
father’s orders and a long conversation with Richard 
decided her, and she resolved openly and frankly to 
act as her heart dictated about her favorite friend. 

What Grace would do honestly, convinced by her 
reason, Adelaide delighted to follow secretly, from 
sheer perversity. 

Adelaide did not find Agnes congenial, thought Mrs. 
Anthon was tiresome and Mr. MacPherson “sour.” 
Yet one evening, when Richard and Grace left the 
house to visit Agnes, Adelaide said she was going 
with them as far as the residence of one of her 
Romish friends, and instead of stopping at her 
friend’s accompanied them to Mr. MacPherson’s. 

“ Why did you not tell plainly where you were 
going?” said Grace. 

“ Oh there would have been no fun in that, and it 
would have made such a fuss,” returned Adelaide. 

“ I am glad to have you with us, but why not be 
frank ?” said Richard. “ If you play this game in 
one thing, you may in another.” 


PRIEST AND NUjS\ 


245 


“ That is very true,” replied Adelaide, unabashed. 

“ And Pm afraid, Adelaide, that you are on a 
wrong road.” 

“ Pooh, pooh, Rick ! how green and blue you are — 
a perfect old ogre ! Here, Grace, come between us ; 
Pm afraid the ogre will eat me up.” Thus did 
Adelaide reject reproof. 

Grace could not help contrasting Agnes’ home and 
mother with her own. Mrs. Iveinp was kind, at- 
tentive to the girls’ dress and manners, ambitious for 
them, willing to spend an hour with them in idle 
gossip, or play a game of cards to pass away the 
evening. She was fond of the theatre, and took them 
there frequently, fostering Adelaide’s growing passion 
for such entertainments. But to her children she 
was neither guide, instructor nor prudent friend. 
“For mercy’s sake, ask Father Murpliy or Saint this 
or that, and don’t worry me,” was her reply when 
appealed to for advice. She read nothing but the 
lightest possible literature; and as for conversation, 
there was little at Mr. Kemp’s that could claim the 
name. Grace, fond of study, delighting in reading 
and with a naturally fine mind, missed in her own 
home those advantages which she found at Mr. Mac- 
Pherson’s. The best books of the day were there 
read and freely discussed. Literature, travels, science, 
the great discoveries of the age, were there the topics 


246 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


of conversation. Grace heard, and felt her mind ex- 
panding under favorable influences. Music, pictures, 
lectures, all these combined to elevate and refine. 
Grace saw that Mrs. Anthon was her daughter’s 
closest friend and confidant, and the parental relation- 
ship assumed before her a hitherto unrecognized 
beauty. There was another theme freely mentioned 
at Mr. MacPherson’s, to which Grace listened with 
growing interest ; that was religion . The Church at 
large, the grand enterprises of Christianity, that par- 
ticular body of God’s people with which themselves 
were connected, the Bible and its doctrines, sermons 
which they heard, revivals, missionary work, these 
were common topics of conversation. 

Grace had hitherto only heard forms extolled, 
prayers rattled off, the requirements of the priest re- 
ferred to, and the necessity of observing the imposed 
fasts and saints’ days. 

Here there was an earnest religion of head and 
heart; here were children of God recognizing theii 
Father’s loving authority and cordially assenting 
thereto. This was a Christian household, and in 
Grace’s heart the empire of Papism trembled. Bu< 
prejudice is strong; the bonds of early instructions 
are clasped firmly, and the hour of her redemption 
was not nigh. If Grace heard with eagerness the 
serious remarks of her friends; if when, as some- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


247 


tunes happened, Mr. MacPherson had the family as- 
sembled for evening prayers before Grace and Richard 
had closed their visit, Grace looked upon these things 
as upon a new world full of sacred mysteries ; if they 
stirred her heart with wonder and awoke the longing 
for a higher life ; how were all impressions deepened 
when that new and higher life was begun in Agnes* 
heart ; when the love of Christ and the hope of his 
eternal rest filled her soul; when Agnes from her 
own experience could tell Grace of God’s goodness, 
and the fullness of his love! There was no back- 
wardness nor shamefacedness about Agnes. She re- 
joiced in Jesus, and would that all should know it. 
She had found the pearl of price, and she wanted 
others with her to realize its worth. 

Grace could not believe Agnes wrong, yet she 
dared not believe her right. She was tossed with 
serious doubts. Her friend said one thing, and her 
life exemplified her wqrds. But the priest said some- 
thing entirely different. His life did not recommend 
his doctrines ; but then, you know, Grace had been 
taught to believe the priest God’s oracle and the 
Romish Church infallible. She was too honest to 
accept a middle course. One of these two must be 
right, the. other fatally wrong. Where should she 
rest? In her anxiety she sounded Adelaide a little 
in t ; subject, but received small consolation. 


248 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ I don’t care one morsel about it,” said Adelaide. 
“All I know is, that Father Murphy and the Church 
have promised to look out for me, and now they must 
do it. I was regenerated in baptism. I belong to 
the only true Church. I confess my sins and become 
as pure as a new-born babe every month. When I 
must die there will be masses and unction and all 
that, to make up for all deficiencies. Why should 1 
bother myself about it? There is Agnes, she is too 
particular for me. She despises cards and frowns on 
the theatre. Now the theatre is ma grande passion. 
Grace, how do you think I would look on the stage? 
Would I be a star ?” 

Grace ventured to speak to Richard on this matter 
which so occupied her. 

“ What do I think of Agnes’ religion ?” said 
Richard. “ Why it becomes her well.” 

“ Oh, I did not mean that” said Grace, drawing 
back. 

Her brother caught the disappointment in her 
tone : 

“ Why, it is real — of course it is. I wish Aunt 
Schuyler had some of it. She needs it if any one 
does. She is miserable enough.” 

“ Do you think Lilly is right?” questioned Grace. 

“ No, to be sure not. None of your Romish doc- 
trine is right. It may have been purer once, but nov? 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


249 


it is like a cup of water which has had poison thrown 
into it — every drop is dangerous. You had better 
leave it, Grace, and stand where Agnes does.” 

Easy enough for Richard to say, but hard doctrine 
for Grace. Drop all she had ever believed — that 
wherein she had been educated ? Drop all she really 
knew, and take up — what? She could not do it. 
Then she would be sure she w^as wrong, and now she 
was not sure she was right. 

May came, fair month of flowers, and on its first 
Sabbath, Lilly w r as to take the White Veil in the 
chapel of the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of 
Mary. 

Grace and Adelaide were eager about the occasion, 
Grace truly believing it a holy act and an acceptable 
sacrifice, Adelaide impatient ever for something new 
to see or hear. 

“ I can’t go to the theatre to-day, and this will be 
next to it,” she said lightly to Grace in the dressing- 
room. 

“ Oh, Adelaide, how can you ? I’m frightened at 
you!” cried Grace. 

Lucy, dressing the reckless girl’s hair, sighed. 
The days had gone Dy when she might take the 
liberty of venturing a remonstrance to her young 
ladies. 

Grace’s mind was that mornir g as divided as ever. 


250 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


She knew that, while Lilly would be receiving the 
White Veil in the convent chapel, Agnes in her own 
church would be taking upon herself the Christian’? 
holy vow. Under any circumstances Grace would 
not have dared to look upon that simple ceremony, 
yet now her heart oscillated between the rite in which 
Lilly was to participate, obedient to Mother Robart 
and Father Murphy, while her wretched parent 
mourned at home, and the earnest act of Agnes, to 
be performed with the full sanction and under the 
eyes of her happy mother. Grace’s face was troubled 
as she pondered these things. Adelaide watched her 
and shook her head. 

“We must do something for you, Grace, my dear* 
you are growing blue !” 

By what wiles Rome lures her victim ! The allure- 
ments, promises and flatteries for the young prose- 
lyte, the flowery way spread before the postulant, 
the white crown and robe of confirmation, the spot- 
less dress and veil before the black gown and veil. 
Ah, how like the snowy shroud and satin-lined coffin 
which precede the blackness of the grave ! 

If ever neophyte believed in the righteousness of 
her course, and the duty and sanctity of her vow, it 
was Lilly. The girl’s whole soul was wrapt in her 
enthusiasm. She believed herself standing at the 
very gate of life. Almost in her hands she felt the 


PRIEST AND NUN 


251 


golden harp of heaven. As she stood before the altar 
her violet eves raised in an ecstasy, the chanting of the 
choir sounded like the welcoming of angels, her victory 
over earth complete. 

Who can tell the mingled feelings of that cloud 
of nuns that filled the centre of the chapel? The 
Abbess, stately and benignant, looked on her favor- 
ite pupil with pride. She truly loved Lilly, and 
she meant to make her as happy as she could be — 
in a convent. She thought the girl rather unfitted 
for the serious activities of life, and henceforth 
what w r as lacking to her in reality her imagina- 
tion might supply. She knew it was a sacrifice, in 
other meaning than Lilly put upon the term ; yet 
perhaps Lilly would never find it out. As for Father 
Douay, he w r as not as earthly as Father Murphy — he 
had never lived in Italy,* and he really believed in 
his religion. In regard to Father Murphy — we wull 
not venture an assertion — you know what Richard 
would have said : “ The wolf was getting the first bite 
out of the plump lamb” — he found it very good and 
snapped his teeth in satisfaction. 

* “It is hard to find an intelligent man .... who does not speak 
sneeringly, disparagingly or railingly against it [ the Romish Church ]. 
Judging from the state of public sentiment, .... you would de- 
clare the Church of Rome- an ocular illusion, or at best a vast 
ecclesiastical mansion in ruins.” — Dr. Bellows ’ Letter from Rome . 


252 


PRTEST AND NUN. 


Adelaide looked on the kneeling figure, the beauts 
ful face of her cousin, and the long soft folds of the 
White Veil, and thought it a charming “scene,” and 
“ what a pity there was not a larger audience !” 
Grace, wondering if Lilly’s feet were indeed in the 
path of peace while her own soul was so tempest- 
tossed, and if Lilly were for ever safe, while she might 
linger on the brink of destruction, > bowed her head 
and wept. 

And where was Richard ? 

Richard’s whole sympathies were with the robbed 
and unhappy mother. He felt that, sick, mind, heart 
and body, she was lying in her darkened room, at- 
tended only by the faithful Hannah. Perhaps his 
thoughts did rove to the solemn service of commu- 
nion in the church where Agnes stood among the 
people of God, but he knew well where was the need 
of comfort, and his generous soul was ever ready to 
espouse the cause of the sorrowful and oppressed. 
As, alike in church and convent chapel such different 
services began, Hannah, bending over her mistress’ 
bed, was saying, 

“ It is Mr. Richard, ma’am. He sends his love 
and duty to you, and hopes you will take comfort 
and not give way-like. He is sitting in the parlor, 
ma’am, and bids me say that he is comfortable with 
a book, and means to stay all day.” 


PBIEST AND NUN. 


253 


All we who have needed consolation know what a 
comfort it was to Mrs. Schuyler to think of her 
nephew’s sympathy and nearness — coming to her 
house in its gloom, waiting not far from her with a 
son’s dutiful affection. She felt that she was not 
quite alone. The spasmodic sobs that had shaken 
her frame melted in a gentle rain of tears. 

“ Might I read to you, ma’am?” said Hannah. 
Bearing her mistress’ burden, the faithful servant 
had often searched the Holy Book for words of cheer. 
She knew well where to read, and soon through the 
stillness of that upper chamber broke the tender 
echoes : “ For the Lord hath called thee as a woman 
forsaken and grieved in spirit,” and so on, culling 
out precious promises, until from the pitiful weak- 
ness of the present and the failure of all creature help, 
the mourner’s heart had been turned to Him from 
whom all goodness flows. 

That evening, Grace, depressed by the conflicting 
emotions of the day, was sitting in her own apart- 
ment, while Mrs. Kemp and Adelaide were yawning 
out the time in the drawing-room. 

“ How beautiful Lilly looked !” cried Adelaide for 
the twentieth time. 

“ Beautiful indeed,” said M~s. Kemp. 

“ But to be a nun — to be h in a convent!” 
added Adelaide. 


22 


254 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ Yes, horrible !” replied the devout mother ; “ bul 
I dare say it suits Lilly.” 

“ Mother,” said Adelaide, “ something is wrong 
with Grace. She is getting almost as religious as 
Lilly. You have no idea how grave she is and what 
queer things she says. How awful it would be to 
have her get ‘ pious’ now, and we to be introduced 
into society next w inter ! Now, mother, you really 
must do something about it.” 

“ Is it so, Adelaide ? Dear, dear ! it is quite time 
you were out of school and having a part in the 
world and seeing something of life. Yes indeed, we 
must do something to distract her mind and stir her 
up a little. Grace serious and devout ! Horrors ! I 
should be bored to death !” 


CHAPTER IV. 


VEIL AND WREATH. 

Of MONG the particularly interested spectators cn 
II the occasion of Lilly’s taking the white veil 
<!*j * were Pat and Ann Mora. 

“ It’s a born shame,” whispered Pat to his sister, 
as they stood humbly near the door of the chapel. 
“ I don’t believe in this kind of thing. I never could 
bear the Sisters nor Father Murphy either.” 

“Oh, Pat!” said Ann, turning pale at her brother’s 
presumption, and weeping faster than ever between 
the excitement of the scene and misery at losing her 
place as Lilly’s maid ; for Lilly was now to find a 
home at the convent and learn to wait upon herself. 
“But it is dreadful-like to see her giving herself 
away so. Oh dear ! it looks just as if she was dead 
and buried and an angel,” added Ann, incoherently. 

“I tell you, Ann,” continued Pat, in his stealthy 
whisper, “ this isn’t the religion for poor folks. What 
a mint of money has been spent on this place in stone 
and glass and finery ! And look how St. Joseph’s 
was squeezed out of us poor sinners, when there ain’t 

255 


* 


256 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


a winter but them as they call good Catholics i& 
starving with want, and depending on Protestants to 
give them bread to eat.” 

“ Hus-s-h !” said Ann, fearful ; “ it ain’t a week 
since father said as there were dungeons under the 
Cathedral to shut folks up in as dared turn against 
the Church !” 

“ Father’s been no better man since he turned 
Fenian,” said Pat. “If it wasn’t for mother I’d 
leave him. He’s taken food out of my mouth and 
clothes off my body to give money to the priest, and 
that’s what I call unnatural and he gave a bitter 
memory to the parti-colored trowsers which had 
wounded his earlier years. Pat confided entirely in 
his sister Ann, and presently whispered in her ear 

“ I’ve got a trac as I picked up t’other day, and it 
half as it says about Holy Mother Church is true, 
we’d better slip away from her.” 

Grace soon got a better pair of spectacles than a 
tract through which to look at Pome. The anxiety 
and distress of mind kindled by witnessing the cere- 
mony in the chapel, filled her with fears that her in- 
timacy with Agnes was wrong and an injury to her — 
that she was endangering herself by this disobedi- 
ence to her Church and priest, and she resolved to 
refrain from visiting at Mr. MacPherson’s for the 


PRIEST AND NUN 


257 


present. Providence guiding her, however, she met 
Agnes in the street, who gave her a warm greeting 
and demanded the reason of her absence. 

“ I love you as much as ever, Agnes,” said Grace, 
flushing, “but — ” 

“ Ah, I see. Come into this bookstore a moment, 
so that I can speak to you. I have a little business 
here.” They entered ; Agnes gave a rapid order at 
the counter and stepped aside with Grace. “Are 
you happy, Grace ?” 

“ Yes, or at least I ought to be ; but I wish I knew 
what was right, and was sure I was doing it.” 

“ Grace, I am praying for you that your way may 
be made plain,” said Agnes, tenderly. Grace looked 
up with a grateful smile. A parcel was just then laid 
near Agnes’ hand ; she took it. “ Grace, you wish 
to know the truth, and here it is so plain that 
a fool might understand. Grace, if you love me do 
not refuse me my request, that you will take home 
this Bible and read it. I ask you to do it, Grace, 
because I knoiv it is the power of God unto salvation. 
Grace, w T ill you take it?” 

Grace hesitated, considered, yielded. By a strong 
effort one of the old shackles was broken, and she 
dared to believe that she might read the word of 
God. She gave the promise. Later she repented, 
and wished she had not promised. But her word 
22 * R 


258 


PRIEST AND NUN 


was gone beyond recall. At intervals she read, then 
again laid the volume out of sight, distrusting it. 
Father Murphy did not ask her about Bibles now, 
He saw with satisfaction that she no longer visited 
her heretic friend, and he thought his stray oue had 
returned to the Romish fold again. Little did he 
dream that a power stronger against Rome than 
Agnes was in Grace’s keeping. 

Had Adelaide warned her mother that Grace 
showed symptoms of smallpox or insanity, Mrs. 
Kemp could not have been more disturbed than at 
the information that her step-daughter was “ getting 
pious,” in Adelaide’s phraseology, or, in other words, 
was concerned for the salvation of her soul. That a 
member of the “ True Church” should be distressed 
on account of sin and desire peace with God, was to 
Mrs. Kemp perfectly inexplicable. , Being a Catholic 
surely Grace was safe, and what more could she de- 
sire than safety? Mrs. Kemp had looked forward 
with much satisfaction to the time when she could 
introduce to the gay world two such beautiful girls 
as Grace and Adelaide — girls accomplished, fresh, 
charming in manner and accustomed to the best .so- 
ciety, with money enough for all the demands of 
fashion in dress and entertainments — girls who must 
inevitably make fashionable marriages, and whose 
weddings Mrs. Kemp could celebrate with great 


PRIEST AND NUN 


259 


eclat to her own intense gratification. Should these, 
Mrs. Kemp’s highest hopes, be frustrated by having 
Grace suddenly weaned from th‘e follies of this 
world and looking for a better life at God’s right 
hand? Never. 

The next question was, what was to be done at 
once to enliven Grace and “ distract” her mind. 
Summer was approaching, the autumn would see 
school-days ended, and the beginning of the gay 
season would bring the time suitable for the intro- 
duction of Grace and Adelaide to the world of 
fashion. 

“ If it had not been for Richard, and the way he 
persuaded his father,” said Mrs. Kemp, “the girls 
would have been introduced last winter.” After fur- 
ther reflection, she added : “ What a blessing that it is 
time to procure the summer fashions ! The grand 
openings will be in two or three days, and the girls 
shall go with me to procure what is stylish and be- 
coming, and then we must take them to Niagara.” 

The shopping occasions proved very successful. 
The girls were enraptured with hats, silks and laces, 
as girls will be. They thought their mother very 
liberal and the “styles” very charming. All went 
on gayly. Grace was as eager over patterns as Ade- 
laide, and her Bible lay untouched in the bottom of 
a drawer. The girls no longer desired to repeat each 


260 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


other in dress, but each consulted her own taste, giving 
themselves thus the benefit of endless diversity. 

The subject of* going to Niagara being broached, 
Mrs. Kemp found her husband less tractable. Time 
enough for that next year. The way she managed 
matters it would be an enormous expense. She could 
go where she pleased, and let the girls board at the 
convent and attend to their music. As for himself, 
Mr. Kemp was unusually busy, and had no time for 
pleasure-trips. He was gathering up all his surplus 
means for a new speculation — a silver mine that 
would make his fortune, and be much better than an 
oil well. Thus Mr. Kemp. But now Richard, some- 
times such a hindrance to his step-mother, came to 
the rescue. He would accompany her. He would 
be responsible for the girls’ expenses, and his mother 
might arrange the trip to suit herself. It may be 
ungenerous to hint that Richard was in any way in- 
fluenced to this gracious offer by the fact that Mr. 
MaePherson’s family were going to Niagara at the 
very time Mrs. Kemp wished to go, and that by a 
little judicious management on Richard’s part they 
might be fellow-travelers. Mrs. Kemp was in the 
height of her glory, the girls elated, the weather 
propitious. The carriage reached the depot in ample 
time, and they secured plenty of seats on the shady 
side of the car. Nothing had been forgotten. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


261 


rt Ma,” said Adelaide, pulling her mother s sleeve, 
u there are the Anthons and Mr. MacPherson !” 

“ Bless me, so they are ! and Richard is talking to 
them !” replied Mrs. Kemp. 

“Ma,” said Adelaide again, “Rick sayg they’re 
going to Niagara !” 

Mrs. Kemp pulled out her eye-glasses and slowly 
scanned the parties in question. 

“Agnes is certainly a magnificent girl, and Mrs. 
Anthon has ‘ tone/ and has traveled in Europe. 
Really they look well, decidedly well. Girls, now 
as we are away from home and from F ather Murphy, 
and as they are surely desirable acquaintances, I think 
we had better cultivate them.” 

Thus, having delivered her opinion, the next time 
the cars stopped, Mrs. Kemp was escorted by Rich- 
ard to Mrs. Anthon and introduced — was charmed to 
see “ dear Agnes,” glad they were going to Niagara, 
and on that especial day and train of all things, 
proposed that they should take seats nearer together 
at the first opportunity, and so forth. 

Mrs. Anthon, agreeable to every one, and mindful 
of Agnes and Grace, received these advances gra- 
ciously, and the party w r ere soon in the same part 
of the car, Agnes and Grace sharing a seat, Adelaide 
rattling her pretty nothings to Mr. MacPherson, and 
the two mothers exchanging opinions and experi- 


26 2 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


ences with a cordiality that set Father Murphy at 
defiance. 

While enjoying everything about them with youth- 
ful zest, amused or pleased by their fellow-travelers, 
catching every mirthful incident and admiring the 
diversity of country over which they passed, ex- 
changing opinions and relating past adventures, 
Agnes and Grace did not neglect the great theme on 
which they often before had conversed. Grace con- 
fessed her anxieties, her present carelessness, the Bible 
by fits consulted and rejected ; but as she talked, the 
interest, whicli in her heart might slumber, but never 
die, revived. 

As the days of the excursion passed away, Mrs. 
Kemp frequently congratulated herself on having 
found such agreeable acquaintances. At Niagara, 
being intent only on the follies and fashions of the 
day, she failed to notice that Adelaide seemed much 
delighted with the society of two or three people who 
were entire strangers to her mother, or that Grace 
and Agnes were as often seated in the shade of some 
broad tree on Goat Island, reading, as engaged in 
lively discourse with their friends. 

“ Ma,” said Adelaide, as they strolled down one 
morning for a new view of the mighty cataract, “ do 
see Grace and Agnes ; quite rural, aren’t they ? Hats 
off, under a tree reading. What book is it they have ?’ 



Scene on Goat Island, Niagara. 

Page 262 . 















































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PRIEST AND NUN. 


263 


Mrs. Kemp turned her lorgnette that way. 

“An album, I suppose,” she said, catching a glimpse 
of the crimson velvet cover, against which Grace’s 
white hand lay in clear relief. 

“ They must be fond of their friends, to biing their 
pictures out here to look at !” laughed Adelaide. 

But instead of a treasury of friends’ faces, the girls 
were studying the Bible — God’s mirror, where the 
hearts of men are laid bare. 

On one of those days Agnes gave Grace a volume 
containing the lives of some of the martyrs, and 
called upon Richard to guarantee the veracity of the 
book. 

“Grace says she will read it if it is true” said 
Agnes. 

“ Certainly it is true — a plain matter of history,” 
said Richard. “It will be more interesting than a 
novel, Grace, and at the same time a narration of 
facts.” 

Grace read the book after she had returned home. 
She could not enjoy as much theatre-going as Ade- 
laide and her mother, and on some evenings, when 
she had declined to accompany them to the play, she 
would sit in her room, comfortably arranged in a soft 
wrapper, her brown hair veiling her face and shoul- 
ders, her head supported upon her hand, reading in- 
tently the lives of those who had witnessed a good 


264 


PRIEST £ND NUN. 


confession for the testimony of Jesus Christ. St 
stirred was her heart by these tales that she cau- 
tiously referred the subject to Father Murphy, saying, 

“Will you tell me what I am to believe about per- 
secutions, martyrdoms and inquisitions ? I see these 
things mentioned everywhere, and hear them cast up 
against our Church. Some Romanists utterly deny 
them, and say that they are libels — that the Church 
has never countenanced these things. But those who 
deny are refuted by other Romanists and by the voice 
of history.” 

Father Murphy smilingly replied, 

“ In this country girls are too much educated. It 
fills their heads with questions. Belief ’ daughter 
Grace, is better than questioning . Your sister Ade- 
laide is much safer than you are, ipasmuch as she 
does not meddle in things too high for her. Yet, as 
you ask me, I do not deny persecutions and so-called 
martyrdoms of heretics, or the glorious Inquisition. 
I rather justify them, and thus : The Holy Roman 
Catholic Church, my daughter, is queen of kingdoms 
and of churches. He who rejects and abandons her 
is guilty of high treason and rebellion .* These, you 

* “ Mother and Mistress of all churches .” — Creed of Pius IX. 
Hence inferred the Kheims annotators, “All heretics are at once 
rebellious subjects and disobedient children, and their punish- 
ment is to be like that of thieves and traitors.” Quoted by R. J. 
Breckinridge 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


265 


know, are crimes, by the common consent of mankind 
punishable with death, and the higher the authority 
against which a man rebels, the more severe the man- 
ner of his capital punishment should be. Every her- 
etic is a rebel and a traitor ; therefore you need not 
marvel at the righteous severity of the holy Church 
to some, but at her leniency to others.” 

And so the summer and the autumn sped. The 
step-sisters were school-girls no longer. Mother 
Robart said they had finished their course at the 
convent with credit to themselves. We must not 
suppose from this, however, that the girls were good 
scholars, or thorough in any branch of education. 
They had merely skimmed the surface of their lessons 
in the most trivial manner, for it is not the policy of 
Rome to educate her pupils in anything but Papism. 
Grace had learned something at the convent in spite 
of all the disadvantages. She was in* some things 
wiser than her teachers. But Adelaide was delight- 
fully shallow — a good sample and trophy of the 
training of nuns and priests. 

With lavish expenditure, Mrs. Kemp was prepar- 
ing for her daughters wardrobes which should eclipse 
all their acquaintances, and, added to their beauty and 
charming manners, make them the belles of the season. 
The grand party which was to usher them into a 
round of pleasures was ever in her mind. Adelaide, 
28 


266 


PRIEST AND NUN 


wild with excitement, dreamed only of brilliant suc- 
cesses and boundless popularity. Grace, more mod- 
erately vain than her step-sister, and yet dazzled and 
bewildered, was slipping within the rapid circles of 
the vortex of worldliness. 

Bj some strange fatality, the day selected by Mrs. 
Kemp for the splendid party on which she had fixed 
her heart was the very one chosen by the Abbess for 
Lilly’s taking the Black Veil and the irrevocable 
vow. This was discovered too late for either party 
to change their plans. 

“After all,” said Mrs. Kemp, complacently, “ I do 
not know as it signifies. The ceremony at the con- 
vent will be in the morning, and of course we shall 
all be there. I cannot see that the two affairs will 
interfere in the least.” 

“Yet,” said Adelaide, “it does seem like going to 
a funeral in the morning and a wedding in the 
evening.” 

“And even that has to be done sometimes,” said 
Mrs. Kemp. “ I have only to beg, my dear Grace, 
that you will not be so impressed with the scenes of 
the morning that you will be dull and moping all the 
evening. What Lilly does is right and pleasant for 
her ; but you have a different life before you, and you 
must set yourself to succeed in it.” 

“And what shall it profit a man if he gain the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


267 


whole world a/ J lose his own soul ?” The fearful 
question started out before Grace as plainly as if a 
spirit-hand were writing it on the wall in words of 
fire. A sadden anguish seized her. Lose her soul ! 
Thin was the crust of life on which she trod. If it 
broke beneath her feet, what then? She envied 
Lilly. On that day to which they were now looking 
forward, how much better Lilly, sworn the bride of 
heaven, than herself, offered at the shrine of the 
world ! Better ? Then came the suspicion that Lilly 
might be deluded, that her sacrifice was false and un- 
acceptable to God, and Scripture clinched the thought 
by the remembered assertion : “ Not by works of 
righteousness that we have done ; but by the precious 
blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and 
without spot.” 

And did such thoughts cross Lilly’s mind? In 
these earliest days of separation her heart was sick 
with a yearning for her mother. Her thoughts rested 
on that mother alone and unhappy, and over her fair 
young face the shadows thickened. Lilly had been 
promised that if she did her own duty her mother 
would unquestionably be brought to see the error of 
her ways and to come into the same convent with her 
child, where they would be united in a bond that 
even death could not sunder. This belief gave Lilly 
courage to act well her part. She never for one 


268 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


moment doubted the assurances of Father Murphj 
and Mother Eobart. To be sure, when she talked 
of her hopes to Father Douay, he met them very 
differently : 

“ Whether her mother were lost or saved, it was 
her duty to obey the Church. She mu»x renounce 
these earthly affections; they were quite unworthy 
a child of the Church. That longing to be united 
to her mother was old leaven that must be done away. 
This separation was the best thing that could happen 
to her. If her mother continued obstinate, Lilly 
must utterly renounce her. She must be to Li llj 
as a heathen and a publican.” Thus Father Douay. 

But this was hard doctrine, and Lilly could not 
bear it. It was a blow that paralyzed her heart. 
She had ever been ruled and guided by her affections 
and her imagination, and the cold, sharp dealings o 
Father Douay were as death itself. Nature rose ana 
cried out that she could not, would not give up her 
mother. She clung to the repeated promises of 
the Abbess and her spiritual director; and yet a 
chill fear crept over her, because as yet there was no 
sign of those promises being fulfilled. ] do not 
think Father Murphy ever expected that Mrs. Schuy- 
ler would adopt the religion of her child. He greatly 
desired it, but there was less and less prospect of such 
a consummation of all these plottings. One thing 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


269 


Lilly insisted on, On the afternoon before she took 
her final vow she must spend two hours alone with 
her mother at her own home. In vain the priest 
and Superior argued that such an act was inex- 
pedient, perhaps unprecedented — that Lilly’s duty 
was to spend her time in solemn preparation for the 
great event of her life — that visiting her mother 
would excite her and disperse all her solemn 
thoughts. 

“ If I cannot do this,” wept Lilly, “ I shall die ! 
I must make one more effort to convert my mother.” 

“ But surely, child,” said the Abbess, “ Father 
Murphy can argue much better than you, and a visit 
from him would be more effectual.” 

“ It is not argument that can prevail, but love,” 
said Lilly, clinging to the Superior’s neck in a passion 
of sobbing. “My mother loves me, and she may 
listen to me.” 

At last Lilly w r on her cause and was allowed to go, 
under charge of Saint Cecelia, to her mother’s house 
and see her mother alone. She obtained this per- 
mission — first, on account of the Abbess’ partiality • 
next, because she was so frail that they feared refusal 
would make her too ill for the next day’s ceremonies ; 
and lastly, because she might win her mother at this 
eleventh hour, and what a consummation devoutly to 
be wished for was that ! 


23 * 


270 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


When Hannah opened the door to Lilly and Saint 
Cecelia, the faithful maiden involuntarily burst into 
tears. If that had been a house of death, there could 
not have been more weeping or oppressive gloom. 

“ Don’t, Hannah !” said Lilly, in a choked, petulant 
voice. “ Take Saint Cecelia into the parlor, and do 
not come to mamma’s room while I am there.” 

She ran up stairs, shaking off Saint Cecelia’s de- 
taining grasp. The quick ear of love recognized the 
coming footsteps. Mrs. Schuyler rose from her 
couch, and as Lilly opened the door extended to her 
her arms. The mother and child were clasped in a 
long embrace. Then they looked into each other’s 
faces, and what bitter revelations! Mrs. Schuyler 
had grown haggard and old ; gray hairs were plenti- 
ful above her wan brow ; her eyes were sunken and 
their light was wept away; for this delusion of 
her child had been worse than death. From Lilly’s 
cheek the soft rose-tint had faded ; her eyes were sor- 
rowful from hope long deferred ; of her delicate 
frame the rounded outlines were wanting ; her little 
hand was thin, almost transparent. 

“ Lilly,” groaned her mother, “that convent is 
killing you !” 

“No, mother, not the convent; that is a blessed 
home, but my heart is sick waiting and longing foi 
you. Then I have been very diligent at my duties 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


271 


and much more engaged in acts of religion than our 
Mother” — how the word cut Mrs. Schuyler’s heart ! — 
“ thinks is good for me. But, mamma, it is all for 
your sake, to save your soul. Oh, mamma, dearest 
mamma, I can never, never come back to you ; but 
you can come to me. Do not destroy yourself and 
break your Lilly’s heart. Come to the true Church ; 
come to the convent, and we can perform all our 
duties together. We can give ourselves to heaven, 
watch over each other’s feebleness and be buried in 
one grave, my mother, oh, my mother !” 

Mrs. Schuyler had dropped into an easy-chair, and 
Lilly, kneeling on a foot-cushion beside her, resting 
on her bosom and encircled by her arms, aided the 
pleading of her lips by the earnest entreaty of her 
tear-filled eyes. 

“ Oh, Lilly, my precious one !” said Mrs. Schuyler, 
with a strong effort, conquering the spasmodic catch- 
ing of her breath, while her heart beat fearfully 
under Lilly’s arm, “this can never be. My bitter 
griefs are driving me nearer my Saviour, and there- 
fore farther from Rome. Lilly, hear what yotrr 
mother has learned in the heaviest afflictions that 
ever woman had to bear : Only the blood of Jesus can 
save our souls . You are deceived, and miserably de- 
luded, if you think your nun’s vow and your convent 
life can take you into heaven. Oh, Lilly, leave them 


272 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


even now. My child, I entreat you, ‘ommai t you- 
come back to your duty ! come back - > your u '.faith* 
ful and bitterly repentant mother, and we will serve 
the Lord together.” 

“ Mother, mother! do not tempt me. I cannot 
come back. I should be for ever accursed. There 
is but one hope for us, mother. Come to me ; come 
to the convent. Be converted to the true faith. Oh, 
mother, my mother, come !” 

“ Lilly,” said Mrs. Schuyler, in agony, “ I have a 
sure hope in Jesus my Saviour, and I cannot give it 
up. God helping me, through all these dreadful 
woes, I will live and die a Protestant. And yet foi 
you, my darling, my own beloved, poor, innocent, 
unhappy victim of your mother’s weakness and of 
priestly wiles, I believe that God will save you yet. 
Yet, Lilly, if the Lord bears long before he avenger 
me at my crying, I shall not live to see the joyful 
day. I see myself dying, slowly but certainly, my 
poor child.” 

Lilly’s arms tightened convulsively about her 
mother : “ I must go back to my convent,” she 
moaned, “and if you do not come to me, we may 
never meet again. My mother, be persuaded. I 
think this grief will kill me. Mother, will you 
refuse me ?” 

“Lilly,” said Mrs. Schuyler, endeavoring to speak 


PRIEST AND NUN 


273 


calmly, “ I shall send for you when I am dying. 
Will you come?” 

“ Oh, mother, must I see you die a heretic ?” 

“ You shall see me die a Christian. You shall hear 
what witness I bear in death to the efficacy of Jesus’ 
blood. Daughter, will you come ?” 

“ Mother,” returned Lilly, “I hope I may send 
for you to see me die. But if I must live, and you 
send for me, can you think I would not fly to you and 
nurse you and get your last look and blessing ? Do 
you doubt my love — do you doubt my humanity ?” 

“No,” said Mrs. Schuyler, slowly; “I do not 
doubt you; yet you are a toy in stronger hands. 
Something tells me we shall never meet again in this 
world. But the Lord will be better to you than I 
have been. He will not reject my tardy penitence 
and prayer. He will let me see you enter heaven. 
Daughter, we have never knelt in prayer together. 
Kneel with me now, and let me commend you, poor, 
helpless lamb among the destroyers, to his keeping.” 

Awed and wondering, Lilly knelt, encircled by 
her mother’s arms, and Mrs. Schuyler, in a passion 
of love and grief, poured out a prayer that amazed, 
hushed and overwhelmed her unhappy child , a 
prayer that left Lilly no doubt of her mother’s near- 
ness to God; a prayer which outweighed all the set 

prayers of Rome; a prayer which dwelt in her 

. s 


274 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


trembling spirit day by day, her sweetest, saddest 
memory, and which it seemed must bring its answer. 

That had been a tender but terrible interview. 
All night Hannah watched over her mistress, while 
the anxious Richard waited below and the physician 
exerted his best skill to save his patient. The morn- 
ing found disease baffled for the present ; but as the 
doctor drew on coat and gloves in the hall, he said to 
Richard, 

“ These attacks are of the heart, and will one day 
prove fatal.” 

As for Lilly, she could scarcely reach the convent, 
supported by Saint Cecelia’s arm ; and the Abbess, 
partly pitying and tender, partly anxious for next 
day’s rites, upbraiding herself for having let Lilly 
make this wretched visit, by hours of soothing, by 
skillful arguments, by deceitful promises, by monot- 
onous repetitions of prayers, and especially by admin- 
istering nervines and cordials, at last had calmed 
her neophyte to rest. 

How different, with the next morning’s dawning, 
were the circumstances and occupations of those two 
families with which we begun our story ! Mrs. 
Schuyder, lying a helpless, exhausted invalid in her 
darkened room ; Lilly being carefully made ready 
for the solemn mockery before her ; Mrs. Kemp in a 
bustle of preparation for the festivities of the even* 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


275 


ing, sending forth her couriers first to the wine* 
merchant, then to the confectioner’s, and anon to 
upholsterer and mantuamaker; Grace and Adelaide 
obsequiously waited on by madame, the dressmaker, 
and her forewoman, for the last trial and retouching 
of their elaborate costumes — -jewels, flowers, dances, 
fashions and all manner of frivolities on their minds 
and tongues. 

And now, from Adelaide: “ We must not be late 
at the convent. Be quick, madame, we have an en- 
gagement. Our cousin takes the veil at eleven. 
Lucy, my gray silk suit, my lace set — Lucy, the best 
one, and those turquoises. Yes, my bonnet with blue 
ribbons and plume ; one cannot be very prononcee at 
the chapel, you know, Grace.” 

And Grace, not behindhand with the vanities of 
this life : “ Lucy, lay out that black velvet suit and 
the hat to match. Yes, you may give me the jet 
and pearl jewelry f I think that most suitable to the 
occasion. Don’t you, Adelaide ?” 

“Yes, for you , certainly; it suits your style. 
Madame, you are sure this method of trimming is 
becoming to my figure?” 

“ Charmante ,” says madame. “ C’est bewitching. 
Mademoiselle is so — ah, what you call it ? — so beaute 
piquante , ah !” 

They start for the chapel, and all the way Ade- 


273 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


hide’s head is filled with visions that would have 
frightened Grace ; and Grace’s mind, slowly turning 
from her own anticipated triumphs and pleasures, 
gives a gentle sigh to her aunt Schuyler — is glad she 
is better, and wearily goes over the old wonder, Who 
is right and who is wrong ? 

What shall we say to the scene in the convent 
chapel? Lilly, the fair, the' young, the innocent, is 
dead to the world for ever, buried beyond recall, lost 
in a sad oblivion ; her tomb, her record, only in her 
mother’s bleeding heart. Instead of Lilly dead, we 
are henceforth to have “ Sister Mary Anna,” a pale, 
frightened young nun, in whose heart is gnawing the 
worm of an imperishable grief, eating her life away 
Sister Mary Anna, erst Lilly, has received the 
gloomy, black veil and the symbolical ring that make 
her the Bride of Christ for ever. A horrid lie and 
mockery. Not these gloomy rites for the eternal nup- 
:ials — far other bridal that whereof John writes the 
exultant Epithalamium, “ I will show thee the Bride, 
the Lamb’s wife, that great city, the holy Jerusalem, 
descending out of heaven from God, having the 
glory of God ; and her light like unto a stone most 
precious. And to her was granted that she should be 
arrayed in fine linen, clean and white. Let us be 
glad and rejoice and give honor to him; for the mar- 
riage of the Lamb is come! Write, Blessed ane: 


PRIEST AND NUN 


271 


hai py are they which are called unto the marriage 
suj per of the Lamb.” Thus we gather up the 
echoes of the song of the latest seer. 

It must not be for one moment supposed that the 
little sigh which Grace gave her aunt was the only 
notice Mrs. Schuyler received from her brother’s 
family at this juncture. By no means. Mrs. Kemp, 
early in the morning, sent Lucy over the way with 
regards and inquiries. Mr. Kemp called himself, 
entered his sister’s bed-room on tip-toe, took for a 
second h t limp hand — “ Hoped she was better. She 
must not give way so ; everything was going right. 
She must be cheerful and conquer this nervousness. 
Exercise, society, these were the tonics she needed. 
Mrs. Kemp and the girls were very busy to-day, but 
would be over to-morrow,” etc. 

At his dinner-table Mr. Kemp freely expressed the 
opinion that “ Maria was nervous and low-spirited ; 
she gave way to trifles ; she was hysterical. It was 
a great pity that she had always been so weak. It was 
absurd in her to make such an ado over Lilly : the 
girl was not dead. If Maria had buried her daugh- 
ter, one might look on Maria’s distress with a few 
grains of allowance, but as she had only taken the 
veil, why it was too ridiculous.” 

Richard shared his aunt’s unhappiness, and longed 
lo do something for her. He strolled to the florist’s 

24 


278 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


md ordered two of the most beautiful bouquets that 
could be made for the two girls ; thep he procured a 
third just as beautiful and sent it up by Hannah to 
his aunt. After that he found it only reasonable to 
go to Mr. MacPherson’s and ask Mrs. Anthon to go 
and visit Mrs. Schuyler ; and this was, after all, the 
very best thing he could do. 

Mr. Kemp had given an especial order to have 
Mr. MacPherson and Mrs. Anthon and Agnes in- 
vited to the grand reception which so filled his wife’s 
thoughts. Father Murphy had expected this, and 
expressly ordered Mrs. Kemp to send no such invita- 
tions. Mrs. Kemp was in a dilemma. She endea- 
vored to persuade Father Murphy that the compliment 
would do no harm, but Father Murphy was endowed 
with a pig-headed obstinacy , and would not abandon his 
point. He was resolved that the MacPherson house- 
hold should be outcasts and publicans, as far as he 
txnild compass it. Mrs. Kemp then sought to convince 
her husband that an invitation would not be accepted, 
and therefore had better itot be sent ; but the husband 
was as obstinate as the priest. And now, as Mrs. 
Kemp wishes agreed with the spiritual Fathers, and 
yet as Mr. Kemp was to foot the bills for this occa- 
sion, and could not be too violently opposed, Mrs. 
Kemp undertook to write a note which should not 
be delivered, and thus upon the lad Matt could fall 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


27 $) 


the blame. But Mr. Kemp had been a Romanist 
long enough to know that his wife would contravene 
and deceive him, and that her priest was “ full of all 
subtlety and mischief.” He unexpectedly secured 
the dainty, scented, rose-hued missive, and said he 
preferred Richard should be their Mercury to Mr3. 
Anthon, and thus make sure of there being no mis- 
take. Mrs. Kemp being thus foiled, accepted the 
situation gracefully. She had done what she could 
to obey Mother Church. She did not want Agnes 
Anthon set beside her girls on that eventful evening, 
but as it could not be helped, she was not the woman 
to distress herself about it. 

Thus it happened that Mr. MacPherson and Agnes 
were present for an hour, admired the young ladies 
and the rooms to Mrs. Kemp’s satisfaction, and then 
withdrew, also to her satisfaction. 

AVe have mentioned Father Murphy’s intention of 
making the MacPherson household outcasts as far as 
he could. Mrs. Anthon never thought of attributing 
to him the difficulty she experienced with servants. 
One after another, they framed some excuse and left 
her, and Mrs. Anthon, not keen enough to consider 
that all these maidens, who changed as kaleidoscopic 
visions, were Papists, wondered and lamented over 
her housewifely afflictions. Did Father Murphy re- 
lent, that he sent her a servant, humble, capable and 


280 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


well recommended ? Send one he did — a servant in 
a brown gown and black silk apron, a check silk 
bonnet and a check woolen shawl — a red-haired, 
white-faced girl, not very young, and a most excel- 
lent chamber-maid. This servant came out of the 
side gate of the House Without a Name. As she did 
so she met a furbelowed nurse-maid coming in with 
a child in her arm. 

“ Going to have him baptized, Sister Maria ?” 
asked the proposed chamber-maid. 

“ Yes; is Father Murphy in there ?” 

Clement made a sign for yes, and added : 

“ He’s just been marking out my line, but I think 
I’ve practiced enough to know myself. You’re going 
to leave where you are, and be sent ladies’ maid to a 
young bride who used to go to the Convent of the 
Immaculate Heart. You can have the recommenda- 
tion I got from Schuyler’s. It is under the pillow 
in my room. I’m chamber-maid now.” 

“ Eh, you’re coming down ?” sneered Maria, chang- 
ing the elegantly-dressed infant to her other arm. 

“Only for a little while. There’s a boy for me to 
look after, too. Mother Ignatia is carrying on the 
working and fasting worse than ever. I’ve been in a 
week, and it will be your turn soon.” 

The two parted, and Annette was soon busy in 
Mrs. Anthon’s house, sweeping, dusting and polish- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


281 


ing in an exemplary manner. Drawers, writing- 
desks, portfolios, etc., were of course systematically 
gone through with ; but the especial object of An- 
nette’s curiosity was Mr. MacPherson’s escritoire, 
and that the wary old Scotchman kept fast locked. 
It was not very difficult to get an impression of the 
lock and have a key made ; but when this was done, 
to her great mortification there was little to be found, 
as all the inner compartments were under the ward 
of another lock. Sister Clement, alias Annette, had 
two especial missions at Mr. MacPherson’s. One 
was to secure intelligence concerning Mr. Wynford 
and his movements. The escritoire she must there- 
fore penetrate, and by having three keys made, she 
succeeded in having that piece of furniture entirely 
at her mercy. At this juncture, Mr. MacPherson, 
pursuing his wrathful investigations of Papism, be- 
came highly excited on the subject of Popish spies in 
families, and casting about for some one to suspect, h* 
fixed upon Annette. 

“ I don’t like that girl,” he said to his niece ; “ she 
looks like a Jesuit.” 

“ She is an admirable servant,” said Mrs. Anthon. 

“ So they all are,” said Mr. MacPherson, grimly. 

“I’ll send her away if you like,” replied Mrs. 
Anthon. 

“ No, you needn’t go so far as that” answered the 

24 * 


282 


PRIEST AND NUN 


old gentleman, “but I’ll take all my private papers 
down to my office. I know there are no spies in pet- 
ticoats there.” 

So just as Annette was all ready for a nocturnal 
investigation of Mr. MacPherson’s correspondence 
and private papers, the objects of her solicitude were 
carried out of the house, and half her mission came 
to an untimely end. 

Alas, for the other object ! It was too surely ob- 
tained. Annette baffled the vigilance of Mr. Mac- 
Pherson. Through her did Martin Wynford receive 
letters, books and papers from the Rev. Fathers 
Murphy and Douay, and from the Jesuits at the 
Belen. By her the lad’s ears were filled with the 
tales and superstitions of Romanism, which, mounting 
to his brain like poisonous vapors, overpowered his 
reason and his sense of duty, and while no one sus- 
pected his danger, he had gone nearer and nearer, 
and now was in the serpent’s coils and carried away. 
Aided by Annette, Martin Wynford escaped from his 
friends. By night Annette helped him carry away 
all his valuables. The next morning he went off 
early, as to school, and did not return. 

Mr. MacPherson waited up for him at night. When 
it was quite late, Annette came down stairs in shawl 
and wrapper and “ Begged ten thousands of pardons ; 
but she had let Mr. Martin in two hours ago and 


PRIEST ARE NUN. 


283 


had forgotten to mention it. He had said his head 
ached and had gone to bed.” She then ran up stairs y 
softly entered Martin’s vacant chamber, and locking 
the door, simulated deep, steady breathing. Mr. 
MacPherson, coming to the room, concluded that his 
ward was asleep and passed on. 

The next morning Annette was found composedly 
setting the apartment in order, and innocently sup- 
posing Mr. Martin had gone out for an early walk. 
By this connivance of the pretended Annette, Martin 
made good his flight, and all Mr. MacPherson’s 
efforts failed to track him. 

This was a heavy blow to the old guardian. He 
felt keenly for the father robbed of both his idolized 
children. 

“ I cannot tell Wynford of it/’ said Mr. MacPher- 
son to his niece ; “ indeed I cannot. He’ll go crazy, 
or get brain fever and die among strangers. No, no ; 
we’ll let him get all the evidence he can to sustain 
his suit and get the girl back, or they are all lost. I 
can hunt for the lad myself.” 

He did continue his search, expending time and 
money, but unsuccessfully. 

As Mrs. Schuyler had lost one child, so had Mr. 
Wynford lost two. Doubtless the first blame lay at 
their own door. If the lambs are not well tended, 
we must expect the wolf will carry them away. Had 


284 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mr. Wy nford been an earnest and intelligent Protest- 
ant, instead of a cold-hearted unbeliever, his children 
would not thus have been deliberately thrown among 
snares. Had he done his duty, the Convent of the 
Immaculate Heart of Mary and the Belen would not 
have obtained possession of his son and daughter 
But how many are thus unfaithful ■ 


CHAPTER V. 


REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 

f HE months flew by. One while Grace would be 
swept along in the rapid current of fashionable 
dissipation. Again she would tremble at thoughts 
of a wasted life, a conscience ill at ease, a heart bur- 
dened with unforgiven sin. She would read the 
Bible until stung by remorse and knowing not what 
to do ; then would hide it away and hasten to drown 
her bitter reflections by new gayeties. Adelaide ap- 
peared light-hearted as a butterfly borne on the wings 
of every truant wind, ever in a brilliant land of sun- 
shine and of flowers. Grace felt that Adelaide had 
concealments from them all, that she was living a 
double life, that there was something hidden — a life 
behind the scenes, where other than her own family 
could come. Mrs. Kemp was perfectly satisfied with 
everybody — a little better satisfied with Adelaide than 
with Grace perhaps, but getting on admirably with 
both. The silver mine was doing wonderfully, money 
was plenty ; she felt as if she had come out into a 
wealthy place, and she was bound to enjoy it. She 

285 


286 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


would see that her girls married well ; Father Murphy 
of course would see that they behaved well. What 
had she to do with their characters when they went 
regularly to the confessional ? 

Not so Richard. He did not think Grace in the 
wisest and most skillful hands. He had learned to 
measure mothers by Mrs. Anthon, and he thought 
Mrs. -Kemp painfully deficient. He watched Grace 
and her friends with tender interest, and doing so, his 
eyes were opened to the fact that there was a vast 
difference between Grace and Adelaide. Grace was 
all frankness — Adelaide delighted in subtilty. Self- 
constituted guardian of these two young ladies, Rich- 
ard was not long in discovering that Adelaide had 
some acquaintances unknown to the rest of the family, 
that she was extravagantly enamored of the stage, 
and that some mornings, when she civilly declined 
Grace’s companionship, she found her way to the 
green-room of the theatre. 

Concerning these deviations Richard spoke with 
Adelaide privately. 

She first denied, then grew angry and spoke vio- 
lently of his interference. 

“ Why do you not play the spy to Grace ?” she 
cried. 

“ I play the spy on nobody,” replied Richard, 
calmly. “As for Grace, you know well, Adelaide, 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


287 


that she is frank and open in her dealings. There is 
your danger, Adelaide. You are not honest about 
your actions. It amuses you to deceive people. Do 
not be angry with me that I speak plainly. I see 
you open to a thousand dangers. Truth, Adelaide, 
is the young heart’s best palladium. Truth may be 
your safety, deceitfulness will be your ruin.” 

Adelaide laughed boldly. 

“You and I have been very differently taught,” 
she answered. “ I have been instructed that I may 
deceive when it is expedient. In fact, that when it 
is useful to health, honor or wealth, a lie is very 
right.* Now, if it is very right one time, it is very 
right always. The only question is of convenience, 
and it is always convenient.” 

“Adelaide!” exclaimed Richard, much shocked, 
“it cannot be that your religion is responsible for 
these false and shameful opinions. Grace is also a 
Papist, and she would blush to entertain them.” 

“You are pleased to be very complimentary,” said 
Adelaide, mockingly, “ but you cannot abash me by 
your disapproval, even so boldly expressed. Grace 
is no proper sample of Romanism. Accept me as the 
legitimate fruit of the tree of Papism. I am in my 
opinions very like Father Murphy, the Abbess, the 

* Sanchez. Quoted by Sauvestre, page 44 of “ Monita Secreta,” 
16th edition. 


288 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Sisters and my own mother. They think it expedi- 
ent to keep these opinions in the background. I 
bring them forward plainly — first, because I like to 
shock people, and lastly, because they are my sole 
excuse.” 

u The girl is going to destruction,” said Richard to 
himself ; “ but it must be that her mother is able to 
control her, and I shall open her eyes.” As he 
wished to take no underhand measures, he chose an 
occasion when Mrs. Kemp, Adelaide and himself 
were alone together. Grace had just left the room, 
and Adelaide was rising to follow her, when Richard 
laid a detaining clasp on her arm, and said to his step- 
mother : “ By your leave, madam, I have a somewhat 
serious charge to prefer against this young lady. Not 
being blessed with our mature years and judgment, 
she has made some acquaintances which I am sure 
will be an injury to her.” 

Horrible visions of seamstresses, clerks and other 
employes, rose before Mrs. Kemp’s mind. 

“Adelaide,” she demanded, “ what dees this mean ?” 

“ Since Rick knows so well, let him speak,” said 
Adelaide, sulkily. 

“ Then I will speak,” said Richard, firmly. “Ade- 
laide has formed friendships with some of the actors 

and actresses at the Theatre. She visits them, 

walks with them, and is to be found at times in their 


PRIEST AND NUN 


289 


green-room. To be thus behind the scenes may be 
bewitching *to a young girl’s imagination, but you 
will see, madam, that such acquaintances are danger- 
ous and inadmissible.” 

Mrs. Kemp’s face grew dark, but Adelaide re- 
solved to win her mother over. 

“ Neither dangerous nor inadmissible,” she cried. 
“ I have but one friend among those Richard men- 
tions, and that is Madame Leplatte, who on the bills 
is called Camilla Donatelli. I met her at the Falls 
last summer, and I’m sure she had the most splendid 
toilette of any lady there. As to her being ‘ danger - 
ous ,’ she is a perfect lady and very fashionable, 
Some of the wealthiest people in town call on her 
I cannot see how my visiting her is ‘ inadmissible / 
She boards at the best hotel, and when I went to the 
green-room with her, I went in her carriage.” 

Richard saw that Mrs. Kemp was going over to 
the enemy. 

“ I assure you, ma’am,” he said, “ I take the lib- 
erty of speaking because I have the same interest in 
Adelaide that I have in Grace, and — ” 

“You have no business to have the same interest 
in me that you have in Grace !” exclaimed Adelaide, 
furiously. 

“My dear child, don’t quarrel,” interposed Mr* 
Kemp. 

25 


T 


290 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“And,” continued Richard, “ I think if an elder 
brother does his duty, he can be a great blessing and 
protector to his sisters.” 

“Thank you, Rick. I am sure — ” began Mrs 
Kemp. 

“And I must be allowed to say,” hurried on Rich- 
ard, “that I think the kind of fashion and visitors 
that Madame Leplatte, as she calls herself, may be 
suited with, very unsuitable for a young lady in Ade- 
laide’s position. Madame and her guests may not be 
unimpeachable — they are not generally considered 
so — and if Adelaide attaches herself to them, she is 
likely to fall out of our set entirely.” 

“ Let me alone !” cried Adelaide, striking Rich- 
ard’s detaining hand with all her small might. “ I 
shall choose my own friends. Madame has the finest 
laces and jewels in the city ; and if you want to prove 
her respectability, just look into her card-basket and 
see whose names you find there! She speaks Italian 
like an angel ! Let me go, Rick.” 

Richard laughed, and caught in his broad palm 
the small clenched hand descending for another 
blow . 

“ Come, mother,” he cried, “ express your high dis- 
pleasure, which I am sure will bring this girl to her 
senses. Banish the Leplatte & Co.’s friendship by 
an edict like that of the Medes and Persians, and 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


291 


then I will speedily make my peace with miss by 
whatever offering she may demand.” 

“ Mother, don’t you listen to him. Madame Le- 
platte is splendid, and you don’t know how useful 
she might be to us — some private theatricals — ” 

Mrs. Kemp, unhappy mother, caught the bait — 

“ Let the child alone, Richard,” she said, easily. 
“I’m sure there is no harm done. You’re over-par- 
ticular. If Adelaide were going wrong, I’m sure 
Father Murphy would stop it. And, as you say, 
Adelaide, some private theatricals would be just the 
thing to set against Mrs. Storms’ concerts. I have 
been worried to death with the stir her concerts have 
been making, which is all that keeps those red-haired 
girls of hers in fashion.” 

During these remarks of Mrs. Kemp, Richard had 
stalked out of the room. 

“Rick is utterly unendurable,” said Adelaide, 
angrily. 

“He’s a regular blue Puritan, thanks to tn^se 
Anthons, and is getting worse and worse,” said Mrs. 
Kemp. “ But he is a kind-hearted fellow and gen- 
erous in gifts.” 

“Yes, he does make nice presents,” conceded 
Adelaide. “ And, mother, couldn’t we get a few tc 
help us, issue about a hundred and fifty invitations, 
get a stage up and have a little drama and some 


292 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


tableaux with niadame to assist. It would take ad- 
mirably. We would have a recherche supper after 
the play. Do, mother ; it will be better than a grand 
reception, and Grace and I will choose our own parts. 
Say yes, mother !” 

“I do not know but we could manage it,” said 
Mrs. Kemp, meditatively, “if you could secure 
madame;.and I suppose she has a handsome theatri- 
cal wardrobe?” 

“Oh, elegant, mother! you’ve no idea; and we 
could hire some costumes through her, and nobody 
know a word about it. Our dress would then be 
complete, and not so very expensive. You could get 
Carter to manage the stage and curtains, and cover 
the stage with those carpets you took off the parlor 
last spring, and hire some scenery — what is needed for 
parlor-acting — and most likely madame could find us 
a prompter who understands the business, to ensure 
against failure. Come, mother, promise !” 

By this time Mrs. Kemp was as eager as her light 
headed daughter. 

“ I will make all the arrangements with Madame 
Leplatte,” said Adelaide, “as I know just where and 
when to find her. She is going to the cathedral with 
me on Sunday, and wants me to take dinner with 
her in her private parlor afterward ; then I can talk 
it over with her.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


293 


“You will surely not dine at the public table ?* 
said Mrs. Kemp, uneasily. 

“ Oh no, indeed ! Madame always dines in hei 
parlor with a few friends on Sunday. It is very 
private, I assure you, and madame is a married lady 
and, of course, a suitable chaperon; and then, 
mother, it is only a very small and private dinner, as 
you may know, for I shall go right from the cathe- 
dral, and in the same dress I wear there. You had 
just as lief, mother?” 

“ Well — yes, perhaps so,” said Mrs. Kemp, slowly. 

On the next Sunday, Adelaide wore a purple silk, 
trimmed with white lace, to the cathedral, and her 
mother saw her nodding and smiling at her from a 
distant seat, beside a splendidly-dressed and hand- 
some woman. 

When Adelaide was inquired for after service, 
Mrs. Kemp said, “She is dining with a friend.” 
Richard at once suspected who this friend was, and 
inviting Grace to go with him to spend an hour with 
their Aunt Schuyler, he talked the whole matter 
over with her, and warned her against Adelaide’s 
new companions. Grace was as averse to such inti- 
macies as Richard. “ It is of no use for me to speak 
to Adelaide,” she said, sadly. “ She would only be 
vexed at me, and she never tells me anything now, as 
she used to.” 


25 * 


294 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Despite this dislike of Adelaide’s theatrical 
friends, Grace was wavering about the private exhi- 
bition that Mrs. Kemp was now arranging. Con- 
science, Agnes and Richard urged her to have 
nothing to do with it; Mrs. Kemp, Adelaide and 
the lively fancies of youth persuaded her to enjoy it. 
Her mind trembled in the balance; one hour she 
thought it a waste of time, likely to throw her among 
ineligible associates — for Grace was not sufficiently 
enlightened to apply to them any other title — and 
that the exhibition would be opposed to that maid- 
enly reserve which she preferred. Again, the entice- 
ments of dress, vanity, display, and the persuasions 
of Adelaide and Mrs. Kemp would be in the 
ascendant. 

Really anxious to be right, at confession Grace 
referred the subject to Father Murphy : 

“ Were not Adelaide’s friends of the theatre ob- 
jectionable ?” 

Father Murphy settled himself comfortably in his 
Basy-chair, stretched out his slippered feet, puffed 
his thick lips, and did not so consider it. Madame 
Leplatte was a good Catholic, attended cathedral ever 
and anon, came sometimes to confession, was not 
niggardly in giving, accepted humbly all imposed 
nominees, was a much better friend than that heretic, 
doomed to perdition, Agnes Anthon. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


'Ad 5 


“But these theatricals, Father ?” persisted this 
anxious inquirer ; “ ought I to take part in them— 
are they right ?” 

“ The Church of Rome has ever countenanced 
these diversions/’ said the excellent priest. “ Peo- 
ple must have some entertainments, and the Church 
is a loving mother, not too strict with obedient chil- 
dren. The theatre cultivates the taste, the memory, 
the mind generally. There are many things more 
dangerous than theatre-going and acting; as, for 
instance, the friendship of heretics, reading forbidden 
books, questioning the dicta of the Church and the 
authority of your priest.” 

Grace was evidently out of favor, and she began to 
weep : “ I try and do my duty, Father.” 

“ Your duty, your sole duty, is obedience. Pay no 
attention to the evil speech of your heretic brother. 
Have nothing to do with Agnes Anthon or her 
heaven-abandoned mother ; read none of their books; 
follow none of their counsels. Do not set yourself 
up as better than Adelaide. She is a better Catholic 
and much nearer the kingdom of heaven than are 
you. As to .these theatricals, take part in them, for 
they will distract your mind and do you good.” 

Richard had remonstrated with his father as to the 
present dramatic infatuation, and as to the style of 
guest about to be admitted to his house. 


296 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“True, Rick,” said the worthy head of the family, 
“it does cost a mint of money to keep the family in 
the advance in good society. The fashions of the 

day would ruin you know that fellow who made 

everything he touched gold.” 

“ Midas ?” suggested Richard. 

“Yes, thank you, that’s it. But the well and the 
mines pay admirably ; we can stand it, and when the 
girls are married the crisis will be past.” 

“ Oh, I wasn’t meaning the money, but the wis- 
dom, the propriety of the thing.” 

“ I don’t expect women to exercise wisdom,” said 
Mr. Kemp ; “ but your mother is well posted in all 
the proprieties.” 

“ It is a fact, sir, that Adelaide is not keeping the 
company she ought.” 

“ I cannot interfere with Adelaide. She belongs 
to her mother,” said Mr. Kemp, loftily. “Don’t 
borrow trouble, Rick. Your whole duty to the 
girls will be to give them each a handsome silver 
service when they get married, eh?” 

“ I would gladly give Adelaide half a dozen such 
if I might see her suitably married to-morrow,” 
retorted Richard. “The next thing we shall suffer 
the disgrace of having her adopt the profession, 
and herself become a third-rate actress in some 
theatre.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


297 


“ What utter folly ! ” said Mr. Kemp, laughing. 

1 e ***** * 

“ Adelaide,” asked Richard, “ what note was that 
tied in the bouquet you threw on the stage last 
■nigh*;?” 

“Just one to madame about our play. I thought 
it would be funny to send it so. But, Richard, I 
can’t bear you. You are so interfering !” said' Ade- 
laide, pettishly. 

Again Richard asked, “Adelaide, who was that 

stranger I saw you walking with on street last 

evening ?” 

“ Only madame’s husband. I was just going to see 
her. What harm in that? I hate to be watched 
so ; I hate you for doing it !” exclaimed Adelaide, 
her eyes glowing and her foot stamped in anger. 

“ I do not watch you. I assure you I saw you by 
the merest accident. But oh, Adelaide, be warned 
in time !” 

“ Be warned of what ? — that I am growing old and 
must one day die ?” retorted Adelaide with a mock- 
ing whine. 

“Quit all this, Adelaide, and come, I will take 
you and Grace for a trip to Cuba and be gone a 
couple of months. Perhaps Aunt Schuyler or Mrs. 
Anthon would go with us,” said the distressed Richard. 

“I won’t do it,” said Adelaide, turning away. 


298 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


About taking part in the private diama, Grace 
hesitated and could reach no conclusion. She learned 
her part, but said she would not play it ; so anothei 
young lady learned it also, as a corps de reserve . 
Mrs. Kemp would not have endured this vacillation 
but she was now wholly committed to the play, and 
wished to conquer Richard, whom she believed at 
the bottom of Grace’s hesitation. 

On the very evening of the exhibition, Richard 
knocked at the door of the young ladies’ room. Lucy 
came out. 

“ I want to see Miss Grace,” explained Richard. 

“She is dressing,” said Lucy. But presently 
Grace came out, a cashmere wrapper enveloping her, 
and her hair all braids and ornaments, shining from 
Lucy’s manipulations. 

“ Grace,” said Richard, “ I’ve seen that famous 
* prompter’ mother has discovered, who passes for 
Monsieur Leplatte, I think. As to madame, I abhor 
the sight of her. Mother and Adelaide are com- 
pletely infatuated. Come over to Aunt Schuyler’s 
with me, and spend the evening while all this farce 
and folly are going on. Don’t let the evil angel get 
the better of you any further. Finish up some plain 
dressing and come on. See” — holding up his watch — 
w I give you ten minutes to array yourself ; meanwhile 
I wait in the hall.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


299 


Grace drew' a long breath, resolutely compressed 
her lips, went into her dressing-room, and seeking no 
aid from Lucy, put on a dark-green silk, fastened it 
with a cluster of carbuncles at the throat, and throw- 
ing her opera-cloak about her, returned to her 
brother. 

“ Thank you, Grace,” said Richard, drawing her 
hand through his arm and leading her quickly down 
stairs, and giving a message to the footman, they 
were soon at Mrs. Schuyler’s. By this act Grace in- 
curred the anger of her mother and priest, and the 
scorn of Adelaide, who would not cease to ridicule 
her. 

This entertainment was the great event of the 
winter at Mrs. Kemp’s. Otherwise life passed in the 
usual round of parties, balls, opera and theatre- 
going, the services at the cathedral and the convent 
chapel being sandwiched between. Like other Ro- 
manists, our friends attempted to cut the Gordian 
knot of Scripture, and to serve God and Mammon. 
We cannot say that in this double service Grace 
found peace. Her heart was like the troubled sea 
that had never rest, and still against the awakening 
voice of the Spirit strove in her that mighty trio — the 
world, the flesh and the devil, the latter in the crafty 
guise of the creed of Rome. 


300 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Since that bitter visit to her mother and hei home 
on the eve of her taking the veil, Lilly had not seen 
her only parent. Mrs. Schuyler now left her house 
only at times for a short ride, or on Sabbaths, when 
she felt unusually well, to attend the service in her 
own church. 

She was surely dyihg. The return of her daugh- 
ter could not have saved her now, though it might 
have healed the wounds in her aching heart. As for 
Lilly, she was not the strong, zealous Romanist her 
Abbess and priest had expected she would be. The 
elasticity of her nature had gone. She was meek, 
obedient, devout, thinking no penances or exercises 
too heavy, and yet there was a crushed, grieved, 
anxious look about her, that told she was far from 
finding the rest and satisfaction she sought. 

Instead of continuing her life of active ministra- 
tions to the sick and destitute, Lilly now seldom left 
the convent. She hovered about the hospital ward in 
the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, or 
lingered alone in the chapel, gazing on pictures and 
statuary with a feeling between religious adoration 
and her innate love of the beautiful. If she wan- 
dered in the garden, it was when the pupils were in 
the school-room, and she might stray in shaded walks 
and by dripping fountains alone ; and then too often 
the painful memories of those days when she, a 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


301 


happy girl, could go nightly to her home and mother 
— that home now by her own act desolated, and 
that mother by her only child crushed and made 
miserable — that mother, whom her spiritual in- 
structors assured her must, bearing fearful penalties, 
drift farther and farther from her through the cycles 
of eternity — these memories, we say, would make 
the poor, pale nun, Sister Mary Anna, sadly weep. 

One nun among the black-garbed throng who tilled 
the convent was more often with Lilly (for so we 
must call her despite her new name of Sister Mary 
Anna) than the others, not from any congeniality 
between them, but that neither was care-free enough 
to envy, jar and bicker like the rest. This was the 
French nun from Paris — Sister Lorette. She was 
of more than middle age, of a hard, unhappy face, 
and a moaning, weary tone, that touched Lilly as the 
revealing of a sorrow deeper than her own. Lorette’s 
trouble was indeed worse than Lilly’s; for Lilly, 
grieved, was not yet the prey of either remorse or 
despair. She believed she had done right, and that 
her thorny way was the path of duty. 

As Lilly was not like some of the gentle Sisters — 
a tale-bearer and a spy — Lorette’s surcharged heart 
would sometimes in her presence break forth in 
sharp, terrible speech. 

“ Don’t tell me of heretics!” she said, fiercely, one 
26 


302 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


day. “I am more surely lost than ever heretic th*U 
lived. They tell me there are some people who do 
not believe in a hell ; but I do not believe in a 
heaven. For me every year has been a sharper 
pain — every day I grow harder. How can this 
hardness and bitterness pass by death into endless 
glory? I believe that after death will follow the 
increasing agony that shall slowly wxar the spirit out, 
destroying its ethereal essence atom by atom until 
all be gone, and we be nothing as before we began to 
be. I have heard such things in France. This 
baby-land has only milk-and-sugar doctrines of im- 
mortal safety and happiness.” 

Lilly shrunk from her terrified. 

“ What is there dreadful in that?” demanded 
Lorette, sarcastically. “Is it dreadful that drops 
of water are invisibly taken up by the sun — that they 
are carried away in scorching heats and known no 
more — that air and water wear the particles of a rock 
until there is not what once there was , and that is 
all?” 

“Ah, but nothing is lost,” said Lilly, gently. “ It 
does not cease to be. In the black cloud, in solution 
in the water, on the wings of the wind, though you 
may not find the lost particles of water and rock, yet 
they are there.” 

“And what difference,” demanded Lorette, “ is it 


PRIEST AND NUN 


303 


whether our aching, wretched souls are entirely anni- 
hilated, or are slowly gathered up into some mighty 
existence in which we lose our separate consciousness, 
our individuality? Ah, in France we reason more 
than here of these things, and we do not believe all 
the twaddle of purgatory and heaven. Don’t think 
I am afraid to die. I wish I could die. Life is a 
curse, and death is the beginning of the end. Once 
out of this dull body, that wants so much and gets so 
little, the fiercer fires, whose kind we cannot tell, will 
begin the destruction that must some time have an 
end. A.h, yes,” she drew a long, slow breath be- 
tween her teeth like a serpent’s hiss, “I wish I could 
die, and I sometimes say to myself, 6 1 will die.’ ” 
Lorette turned away, and Lilly, trembling and 
shivering, reached her own little cell. She could not 
weep. A blind, cold horror came over her. Her* 
was Lorette, a child of the convent and the nurs- 
ling of the Church ; Lorette, who had neither her- 
etical breath nor bread; Lorette, the confidential 
messenger, the u beloved Sister,” the good Catholic ; 
Lorette, of whose salvation nuns and priests would 
proclaim absolute certainty, who might (who knows ?) 
one day get into the calendar ; and yet she had flung 
open to poor Lilly the door of her hearj, and lo ! all 
within was ravening and wickedness, and cursing, 
doubts and misbeliefs and dead men’s bones. It was 


304 


PRIEST AND NUN 


a new burden, and Lilly must, bear it in secret, foi 
she could not betray Lorette’s confidence. We must 
pity this poor child, who until now had believed the 
convent infallibly the gate of heaven, and the vow of 
the order the passport to the skies. After some 
wretched days a solution of these difficulties occurred 
to her. She sought Lorette and inquired if she re- 
gretted her vows ? 

No, Lorette regretted nothing. 

Was she weary of the convent and anxious to 
leave it? 

No, Lorette would do as illy in the world as the 
caged bird would do in the woods. The convent was 
her home. 

Did she reject the Romish faith ? 

Oh, no, she w^as a good Catholic. 

Was she at all a heretic? 

By no means. Lorette despised heretics. She was 
simply a wretched woman, with no hope in this world 
and none in the next. 

How shall we think Lilly contrasted this statement 
of belief with her mother’s fervent prayer ? 

Meanwhile, Sister Clement, as Annette, was at 
Mr. MacPherson’s, and one day, while dusting the 
hall, she hear*! a carriage stop before the door. She 
looked out and saw Mr. Wynford leaping from a city 
hack, portmanteau in hand. Annette fled up stairs. 
















* 








: > 





» • 































\ 



















PRIEST AND NUN 


305 


and while Mrs. Anthon and Agnes were greeting 
their guest in the parlor, and sending for Mr. Mac- 
Pherson to come and welcome him, and alas ! break 
to him the news of Martin’s flight, Annette, in hat 
and shawl, passed out the area door, asking the cook 
to tell the mistress that she was wild with the tooth- 
ache and was going to the dentist. Annette did not 
wait this time to hang her present seeming on the 
attic wall in the House Without a Name, in order to 
visit Father Murphy as nun Clement; but she sped 
to the priest’s house without delay. Mr. Wynford 
had returned with a brightened face, a step and mien 
that told success ! This was news of importance. 

In fact, in her excitement and headlong haste, 
winged by the words she had heard Mr. Wynford 
shout to his friends as he met them — “All right, all 
right !” — Sister Clement committed an indiscretion 
unprecedented in her exemplary life. She pulled the 
bell at Father Murphy’s door, and then, too eager to 
wait to have it answered, which in that dwelling was 
always a work of time, probably hasty preparations 
for visitors having to be made, Sister Clement pushed 
open the door, crossed the hall and admitted herself. 
Ah ! Father Murphy, the housekeeper (his aunt, you 
know), the housekeeper’s nephew and the nephew’s 
cousin were engaged in playing cards. Near at 

hand stood a steaming and mighty pitcher of hot 
26 * U 


306 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


whisky punch,* which perfumed the room with th<a 
odor of liquor, lemon and spice. This was flanked 
on one side by a high dish of ruddy apples, and 
on the other by a frosted silver basket of fruit-cake. 

Oh goodly spectacle! Oh goodly Father! who 
knew how to take his portion in this life. Was this 
Father Murphy’s notion of otiurn cum dig., as the 
seniors have it ? 

Annette, abashed, let the door swing together be- 
tween herself and the jolly group of card-players, 
and stood without, her head dropped, and groaning 
(between envy and fear) worse then ever Peri at the 
Paradisaic gate. 

Father Murphy, seeing a furbelowed and gor- 
geous damsel of the maid-servant description thus 
appear and disappear at his door, graciously went out 
to her. Annette fell on her knees, exclaiming, “ For- 
give me, holy Father! the cause was urgent; my 
haste overcame my decorum !” 

“ Daughter Clement !” cried the priest. 

“ With weighty news to plead my excuse. See, 1 
have not even been to the House to lay aside mv 

* “ In Pittsburg, after the consecration of a Bishop, they had a 
great consecration dinner, with a long list of wines and ales, 
whiskies and brandies on the bill, and several of the Bishops got 
gloriously drunk — all this on the Sabbath .” — Pittsburg Christim 
Advocate, quoted by Dr Mattison. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


307 


dress. I trusted to being supposed by passers-by a 
penitent for confession.” 

“Rise up, daughter,” said Father Murphy in his 
deepest tone, judging from the stir in his parlor that 
his co-revelers had made good their escape. “Rise 
\ p and report your business. We — hem-m — the 
Scripture bids us be all things to all men — and — a 
still higher authority — hem-m — the Monita — h-m-m 
— the Rules of our Order - — Visitentur crelso, et 
jucundis colloquiis ac facetiis , etc. ; which means,, 
daughter Clement, Let one visit often and entertain 
one’s guests in an agreeable manner, and with pleas- 
antries, according to the humor and inclination of 
each one.* Rise and enter my parlor.” 

Clement’s discoveries were soon unfolded, and as 
Father Murphy must have a clear record in this 
matter, the crafty sister was bidden to report to her 
Superior, put on her proper garb and go to the Con- 
vent of the Immaculate Heart to bear to Mother 
Robart the united wisdom of Father Murphy and 
Mother Ignatia. John Mora was sent with a mes- 
sage from “Annette” to Mrs. Anthon, stating that 
the trusty servant had met with an injury in cross- 
ing a street, and was taken to her aunt’s in the 
country, John to be the bearer of her clothing 
and wages. As for John, he did not know but 
* Secreta Monita, cliap. vii., sec. 4. 


308 


PRIEST AND NUN 


there was a real Annette for whom Sister Clement 
was agent. 

On the following morning, Mr. Wynford, on the 
plea of having new and important evidence for his 
case, obtained 'a new writ of habeas corpus , wherein 
Mother Robart, Superior of the Convent of the Im- 
maculate Heart, was ordered to have the body of 
Estelle Wynford, or, as previously pleaded, Estelle 
Latrelli, at the City Hall on the following day at 
ten o’clock, there to do and receive what should then 
and there be considered concerning her. 

And now Mr. Wynford was torn by conflicting 
emotions — joy at the prospect of recovering his 
daughter, and misery over the ingratitude and loss 
of his son — one moment weeping and groaning, the 
next taking courage. Richard was exultant at the 
thought of next day’s triumph, and in his earnest, 
manly way was doing his best to comfort this father, 
who had grown suddenly old in his prime, and crying, 
like aged Jacob, “ If I am bereaved of my children, 
I am bereaved.” Mr. MacPherson feared some new 
priestly artifice. A new blow was, in fact, impend- 
ing. Before the court next day appeared the gra- 
cions and stately Abbess of the Immaculate Hear”, 
in person, her very presence inspiring respect, and on 
her oath declared that the girl Estelle Latrelli having 
been legally committed to her keeping, she had in all 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


309 


good faith endeavored to fulfill her duties as guardian ; 
that her ward had been wayward and rebellious, 
choosing evil and eschewing good, and despite all 
entreaties, gentle coercion and due vigilance, had 
made good her escape from the convent on the fifth 
day of March, and had gone none knew whither. 

The Abbess explained that, though she watched 
with maternal solicitude over her pupils and nuns, 
yet they might get away from her if escape was 
their desire. Thank heaven, no such desire had ever 
been shown, save by one poor crazed nun and this 
unhappy Estelle! The Abbess with mild indigna- 
tion asserted that her convent was a “ home,” and 
not a “jail;” its inmates were a “family,” not 
“ prisoners.” Estelle was gone, and as her guardian 
she had sought her far and near. A detective swore 
that on the 6th of March he had been notified of 
this flight and requested to look for the girl. Two 
policemen swore that they had been on the watch. 
Father Murphy and four Sisters made a deposition, 
declaring that they knew of Estelle’s departure, of 
the Abbess’ efforts to recover her, and of the failure 
of said efforts. The Mother Superior further took 
oath that Estelle had left her, and she had no know- 
ledge of her whereabouts. John Mora and Michael 
Shinn testified that, feed by Father Murphy to look 
for Mother Hobart’s ward, they had searched, and 


3J0 


PRIEST AND NUN 


but yesterday had heard of a girl answering to her 
description, who, after a reckless life of several weeks 
in an alley (the name of which was given), had, with 
some like-minded companions, started for New 
Orleans. The matter was hotly prosecuted on both 
sides with witnesses, depositions, oaths, arguments, 
but in the midst of it the agonized father was carried 
insensible from the court-room. The holy Abbess 
of the Immaculate Heart of Mary sat calm and mild 
behind her veil during the whole scene. Time and 
money were freely but unavailingly spent by Rich- 
ard and Mr. MacPherson in this case, while poor Mr 
Wynford lay burnt with fever and with distracted 
brain, unable to defend his cause or carry it on, and 
wildly shrieking the names of his lost children. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE GATES OF DEATH. 

f INCE the private theatricals, when Madame 
Leplatte and one or two of her friends had 
been admitted to Mrs. Kemp’s house, Adelaide 
had grown constantly more intimate with these 
actors. Even her mother began to be awake to her 
danger, on account of the frequent hints received 
that Adelaide’s society was unworthy of her position. 
Now and then a friend suggested to Mr. Kemp that 
perchance his step-daughter might sacrifice the family 
respectability by making her debut on the boards of 

the Theatre. But remonstrance and entreaty 

came too late, and availed but little with the wayward 
girl. 

“You liked them well enough when they were 
convenient to you. Now, why should I drop them 
when they are convenient to me ?” demanded Ade- 
laide, disrespectfully. “ If the theatre is not proper, 
why have I always been taken to it? If actors and 
actresses are not proper people, why does the public 
eno urage them by crowding to the play? If to be 

* 311 


312 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


an actress is disgraceful, why are whole columns of 
newspapers given to praising them, and why are 
bouquets thrown on the stage by the dozen? If 
being an actress is not disgraceful, what are you 
talking so to me for ?” 

Thus Adelaide would retort on her friends. 

If the family storm rose too high, she would say, 

“Well, there! what is all this coil about? Fm 
sure I have nothing to do with them now. I got 
tired of that company a month ago.” 

But this household knew each other well enough 
not to believe bold assertions. 

It is useless to linger over this portion of the 
family history. Adelaide was a good Catholic. She 
was an average specimen of the training of nuns and 
priests. What more was wanted ? Her relatives 
felt a good deal more was wanted when the denou- 
ment came. Adelaide left home to spend a day and 
a night with a friend of her convent days in a distant 
part of the city. On the afternoon of the second day, 
while the family were seated at dinner, came a note 
from the wayward girl, containing a certificate of her 
marriage to Mons. Paul Luolli, and boldly demand- 
ing that her personal property should be sent to the 
hotel, where her family knew too well that she had 
often visited Madame Leplatte. A letter to Grace 
arrived at the same time, detailing the recent proceed- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


313 


mgs, stating that her friend where she was visiting, 
Madame Leplatte and two others had composed the 
wedding-party, and that they had gone to a town 
twenty miles away, and been duly married in the 
Romish church by a priest. She w r as now at the 

Hotel, in a handsome suite of rooms, and 

would be pleased to receive her family at any time. 
This bold, dashing, careless letter was worthy of 
Adelaide Grant, and that is all we can say for it. 

“ I know the rascal !” cried Richard. “ I traced 
him out long ago, but none of you would listen to 
my warnings. He is Madame Leplatte’s own brother, 
'mt was introduced here as her husband on the occa- 
sion of that unhappy theatrical. What do you sup- 
pose he has married the girl for but her little fortune 
and the name of the family?” 

“ Oh, oh ! here’s a pretty thing !” groaned Mr. 
Kemp. “ My step-daughter, Adelaide Grant, mar- 
ried to an actor ! It will be in all the papers and on 
everybody’s tongue, and how can I ever hold up my 
head again ?” 

“Well, ma’am,” cried the angry Richard, “ you 
see how much Father Murphy has done toward keep- 
ing your daughter right. Not that I blame him or 
chink him responsible. Every mother should guard 
and guide her own children. But I complain of a 
religion that publicly offers to lift the responsibility 


314 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


off parental shoulders, and rest it — goodness knows 
where !” 

“ Stop, Rick, stop !” exclaimed Grace, who had 
tun around the table to her step-mother, and was 
supporting her in her arms; for Mrs. Kemp, after 
gazing wildly foi some seconds at her husband and 
Richard, and making inarticulate efforts to speak, 
had fallen back in her chair in hysterics that threat- 
ened to end in spasms. 

Richard muttered something between his teeth, and 
called for the footman to assist him in carrying Mrs. 
Kemp up stairs, while Mr. Kemp, in his anger 
utterly regardless of his wife, whom he considered 
the primary cause of this misfortune, strode wrath- 
fully up stairs, and bade Lucy collect every article 
that had ever belonged to Adelaide and send it to 
the address she had given. 

“ Don’t leave a trace of her in the house P he 
cried. 

It was easy to say, “ Do not leave a trace of her 
hut were not her traces everywhere? The lively, 
pretty, saucy, agreeable girl could not so quickly be 
cast out. The house was filled with mourning, as if 
the destroying angel, who went sword in haud 
through Egypt, had been there. Lucy wept until she 
could hardly see to dress Grace’s hair. Mrs. Kemp 
kept her bed and refused to be comforted. Mr. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


315 


Kemp was angry and Rick gloomy. The servants 
spoke in low tones and looked melancholy enough. 
Grace, forbidden by her father to visit Adelaide, went 
nowhere, and at her books, work, meals oi music 
would inopportunely burst into tears and rush off to 
her room. Adelaide’s departure had left a miserable 
void. The family happiness had been made ship- 
wreck, because the parents had not been true to the 
trust reposed in them by God — because Adelaide had 
been instructed to deceive, and had never been 
drained to a sense of her own responsibility. She 
had had no “ calling and election to make sure,” for 
?he was in the good ship of Romanism, which she 
was told celestial breezes would inevitably waft into 
the port of peace. 

But, says one, these things happen in Protestant 
families. Very true; but it is because parents are 
unfaithful. “The Lord is not slack concerning his 
promises,” and he has pledged himself to second the 
good efforts of parents for their children. If Prot- 
estant parents were but faithful , their children would 
not be traitors to themselves, like Adelaide, or prose- 
lytes to Rome, like Lilly. 

Hearing of the trouble in her brother’s house, 
Mrs. Schuyler, , carefully supported on Hannah’s arm, 
went to visit her mourning sister-in-law. Consump- 
tion had set its fatal seal on Mrs. Schuyler’s hectic 


316 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


cheek and in her bright and sunken eyes. Richard 
met her at the door and aided her to reach Mrs. 
Kemp’s chamber. The feeble woman, looking as if 
her days on earth were numbered and very few, bent 
over the bed, where, refusing all consolation, the un~ 
faithful and heavily-punished mother lay. “ I have 
come to weep with you, sister, for I too have lost a 
child ; I have a child who living is dead to me.” 

“Ah,” replied Mrs. Kemp, “but your trouble is 
not like mine. Your child, devoted to a holy life, 
abides in all happiness and honor, and her praise is 
on every one’s lips, w T hile not a tongue in the city but 
will tell of my child’s wicked folly. What can 
look forward to for my Adelaide but a roving, dis- 
appointed, unhappy life ? How will she repent this 
step when repentance is too late !” 

“Repentance unto God is never too late,” said 
Mrs. Schuyler, dropping her head on her hands, 
“ and unless a merciful God interpose, I do not see 
but my child is as surely lost as yours.” 

There was a silence for a few moments; both 
mothers were weeping. Mrs. Schuyler was the first 
to speak : 

“Let us not brood over our trials in a hopeless 
spirit. How strongly comes to me the question, 
i Wherefore should a living man complain, a man 
for the punishment of his sins?’ For myself, I see 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


317 


that I am reaping what in my negligence I sowed. 
Let us rather turn ourselves unto the Lord, 6 who 
has smitten and who can heal, who has wounded and 
alone shall bind us up/ I can tell you from my own 
experience that the Lord is good, and a stronghold 
in the day of trouble ; he helpeth all who come to 
him ; 1 He will heal all our backslidings and love us 
freely/ Let us give the remnant of our lives to him, 
instead of to the world. You have longer to live 
than I — I may never come here again — I think I shall 
not — but you in the years before you can serve the 
Lord if you will. Seek him in his written Word/’ 

She spoke in a low tone, and with many pauses 
from shortness of breath. Mrs. Kemp knew she was 
in hearty earnest, and also saw that she was a dying 
woman. She replied : 

“I am glad, sister Schuyler, if you have found 
anything to make you happy. I’m sure you need it. 
I don’t want anything of that kind, though. I’ve 
been a member of the True Church nearly twenty 
years, and I feel that my spiritual interests are in 
good hands. I only want one thing — I want to re- 
trieve this disgrace of Adelaide’s. I want to be sure 
she will never disgrace us by going on the stage. 
Oh if I could only get her home again ! Richard, 
do you think we could get her divorced from that 
man and bring her back?” 


318 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Richard was standing at the window with his back 
to the room, apparently looking out into the street 
from the small aperture between the curtain and 
casing. Mrs. Kemp kept her room darkened as an 
indication of the state of her feelings. Richard had 
listened to his aunt with strong emotion. His step- 
mother’s words jarred harshly on his ear. He replied, 
shortly : 

“ I can’t see, ma’am, as that would make the 
matter any better ; and, besides, she is of age, and 
there is no pretext for such proceedings. Grace sent 
a note to-day to Father Murphy. I suppose she 
asked him to go and see Adelaide ; and most likely 
you will have the light of his wisdom on the ques 
tion, as soon as his reverence finds time to give it.” 

“ Sister Kemp,” said Mrs. Schuyler, “ we ought both 
to have trained up our children for the Lord, and then 
we should not have been brought to suffer in them.” 

I’m sure,” said Mrs. Kemp, “ that if I’d known 
my daughter was to act in this way, I would much 
rather have had her go in a convent; but she was so 
fond of life that I do not think I could have forced 
her to take the veil, and I hoped she would gain a 
brilliant position in society. Now all is lost, and 
nothing can do us any good.” 

“ ‘ Who shall show us any good ? Lord, lift thou 
u>p the light of thy countenance upon us,’ ” said Mrs 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


319 


Schuyler, softly : but her words were “ as water on 
the flinty rock.” 

After a short stay, Richard aided her home. She 
dropped back in her chair exhausted, and he stood 
fanning her. When she became able to speak, she 
said, 

“ Richard, you are like a son to me.” 

Then taking up a small Bible from a table near, she. 
pointed out a verse. Richard read : 

“Be watchful and strengthen the things which 
remain, that are ready to die.” 

“ That,” said Mrs. Schuyler, “ is all that is left for 
me to do, Richard. I have thought you had some 
interest in religion. Is that ready to die?” 

“ I am almost afraid so,” said Richard, soberly. 

Mrs. Schuyler took his strong hand in her thin 
white fingers. 

“ Richard, won’t you seek the Lord until you find 
him ?” 

Richard looked dowm in earnest silence. It was a 
solemn question, and he was weighing well his an- 
swer. A promise to himself and this dying woman 
might never be taken back. 

“Yes, aunt, I will;” he said it with all his heart. 

Father Murphy visited Adelaide and made his 
report. Her husband and his sister were good Cath- 
olics, and willing to be better ones. They all had 


320 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


promised obedience to the Church and attention t . 
their religious duties. The match for Adelaide \y;js 
a very bad one, and the Father was greatly disap- 
pointed. He had rather have had Adelaide and her 
little fortune in the nunnery than thus thrown away. 
He had hoped Grace and Adelaide would marry rich 
Protestants, who would pledge themselves to the true 
faith. 

Grace was now much more of an object to Father 
Murphy than she had been. Mr. Kemp, instead of 
exhausting his whole income each year by extravagant 
living, as had once been the case, was now, though 
living with equal display, laying up a fortune from 
successful speculations. Grace, as one of his two 
children, might look to inheriting half the estate. 

Mrs. Kemp visited Adelaide, was partially recon- 
ciled, and extorted from her a promise that she would 
never appear as an actress in the city where they re- 
sided ; and if she took such character in other places, 
it should be under an assumed name. The mother 
gained this pledge by declaring that, if Adelaide 
crossed her in this matter, she should not receive a 
penny of her mother’s private estate. 

Lucy, with many tears and protestations, left 
Grace’s service “to go wait on poor Miss Adelaide.” 
Grace look Ann Mora, who was now quite skillful, as 
her maid. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


321 


Mr. Kemp would not permit Grace to visit Ade- 
laide, nor admit Adelaide to his house ; and Grace 
mourned sincerely for the step-sister she had so truly 
loved and so entirely lost. After some months of 
this total separation, chance threw these two together. 
Grace, going one day to confession, waited in Father 
Murphy’s parlor until some penitent, who was already 
.occupying the priest, should retire. Grace was bend- 
ing over a vase of tuberoses placed upon a table, when 
the rustle of a dress and the gentle closing of a door 
told that some one had come from the confessional. 
She felt that “some one” stop close beside her — 
looked up — it was Adelaide. 

She clasped her in her arms, forgetting and for- 
giving all the neglect and treachery of the past, re- 
membering only the joy of meeting. In a moment, 
Father Murphy, waiting within, was forgotten, and 
the two girls in low, eager tones were exchanging 
questions, answers, protestations and regrets. Father 
Murphy, guessing how affairs stood, came into tht 
room and flung himself into his great chair, benevo- 
lently prepared to allow the long-separated friends to 
converse, if they chose, in his presence. “ Come and 
see me,” said Adelaide. 

“I cannot. Father won’t allow it. Go to his 
office and make friends with him, and then perhaps I 
can come,” said Grace. 


v 


322 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ Nonsense!” said Adelaide; “you are of age ; 
come when he don’t know it.” 

“No,” said Grace, firmly. “There is where you 
went wrong, Adelaide.” 

“ Daughter Grace, you are right,” said Father 
Murphy. 

Adelaide pouted. 

“Oh, Adelaide, how could you do so wrong?” 
asked Grace. 

“ Don’t talk about that,” said Adelaide, daringly 
“ I have confessed all and done penance, and now I 
am all right. I have had absolution, and it is just 
the same as if I had never done wrong. Absolvo Tt } 
you know;” and she looked gay ly toward the listen- 
ing priest. 

“Daughter Adelaide,” cried Father Murphy, 
sternly, “you have little of the true spirit of our 
religion. Where is the hearty penitence you pro- 
fessed ? I am seriously angry at these light words.” 

“ Then I will confess them the next time I come 
Good-bye, Father !” and Adelaide tripped away, 
leaving Grace weeping and the confessor astounded. 
In fact, Adelaide’s husband and Madame Leplatte 
were in heart infidels, and were teaching her their 
pernicious views. 

And now the autumn had come once more, and 
over the two opposite mansions where our storv Laa 


PRIEST AND NUN 


323 


lingered hung the shadow of death. Battling bodily 
for life with unexpected tenacity, and in spirit long- 
ing unutterably to be gone to her Father’s house, 
Mrs. Schuyler had worn out the lengthening weeks, 
and now the end was nigh. Again and again had 
6he sent for her child. Hannah, Bichard, even Mr. 
Kemp, ha 1 gone to the convent and pleaded for the 
daughter’s presence at the dying bed. They were 
heard in silence or obtained promises which were 
never fulfilled. Father Murphy was appealed to. 
and referred petitioners to the Abbess. The Abbess, 
besieged, referred them to the priest. It was an end- 
less round game of diplomacy. Meanwhile, in 
fevered sleep, the dying mother moaned her Lilly’s 
name. Mrs. Anthon and Agnes wept over her. 
Tears of pity and wrath shone in Richard’s eyes. 
Hannah lamented the “hardness of the nuns and 
priests” unceasingly. It was a sorrowful deathbed, 
yet this long-afflicted woman was prepared to die, 
ready to depart and be with Christ. 

Over the way the death-angel also hovered, and 
over an unwilling victim. Fever had seized upon 
Grace, was scorching in her veins, burning in her 
eyes and filling her head with fearful visions. She 
cried out that she could not die. In vain they tried 
to comfort her. She read in despairing faces that 
they felt her doom was sealed. In vain Fathei 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


324 

Murphy and the Sisters told her all was right — the 
Church would secure her eternal happiness. She had 
read enough of that hidden Bible to know that more 
than the Church is needed to make a man just with 
God. “ I am not safe, I am nqt safe !” she would 
cry. “ Save me, save me! let me get well, and I 
will attend to nothing but the salvation of my soul !” 
Sister Clement had come as nurse. She suggested 
prayers unnumbered, vows, visits to convents and 
churches, gifts — all that Borne offers to buy the salva- 
tion of the soul ; but still her patient cried, “ Save 
me ! I cannot die ! These things are not helping me. 
I feel that all is wrong !” 

“ There has been some mischief at work stirring 
her up so,” said the priest to the nun. “ Daughter 
Grace, cease to doubt the holy Church; cast aside 
your fears ; resign your heresies ani drop yourself 
into the arms of the Church as a child to its mother’s 
breast. The Church will carry you to safety.” 

“ I cannot, I cannot !” cried Grace. “ Tell me 
something higher and better. I have tried the 
Church and the Virgin and the Saints, and they are 
not helping me. Tell me something quickly, or I 
am lost !” 

In one of the lulls, when Ann Mora could speak 
to her young mistress unheard, she whispered, “ Dear 
miss, let all go and catch hold of this: ‘ The blood 


PRIEST AND NUN 


325 


of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.’ Oh, if you 
only knew the good it’s done me, miss.” 

u Say it again,” said Grace ; and Ann said it again 
and again. 

“ Call for Richard,” said Grace. Richard was 
sometimes by his dying sister and sometimes by his 
dying aunt. 

“Rick,” gasped Grace, “tell me something that 
will help me.” 

“ Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt 
be saved,” said Richard. “ Let go all else and cleave . 
to that. ‘Look unto me and be saved/ says your 
Saviour. Look unto him alone.” 

“ Bring me Agnes, bring me Agnes ! She knows 
the w T ay !” cried Grace ; and Richard brought Agnes 
from Mrs. Schuyler to his sister. But now arose a 
tumult in the sick room. The Sister and the Father 
declared that, if the heretic remained, themselves 
would depart and doom the dying girl to perdition. 
This distracted Grace so that she could hardly heed 
anything. Her disease increased each moment. “ I 
will go,” said Agnes, bending over to kiss her friend, 
and whispering, “ Grace, look only to Jesus ; he 
■taketh away all your sin.” 

Fearing that the patient might seem to die a Prot- 
estant, Father Murphy sustained and urged the phy- 
sician’s giving a powerful opiate. It was the last 
28 


326 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


resort; it might help her; or, too feeble to bear it 
Grace might in her stupor pass out of life — bettei 
to die thus unconscious than a Protestant. 

Agnes Anthon, overcome by the heartrending 
scenes she had witnessed, was conveyed home by hei 
mother. 

All night the watchers* tapers burned in the oppo- 
site windows. Richard and Hannah waited by Mrs 
Schuyler, the hired nurse sleeping quite exhausted, 
and Clement, Ann Mora and Mrs. Kemp tarried at 
Grace’s bedside. 

When the stars were setting, the warfare of Mrs. 
Schuyler was over, and earth, life and trouble 
dropped together like heavy shackles from her as- 
cending spirit. She had entered into glory, and had 
attained at last to the full realization of that blessed 
truth, that “the sufferings of this present time are 
not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall 
be revealed in us.” 

Meanwhile, on slow pulsations, Grace was drifting 
nearer and nearer “the iron gates of Time” that 
stood ajar before her. Cast through them by some 
heavy swell, into what night and shadows should 
Grace Kemp be gone ? 


PART THIRD. 


SHOWING HOW ROME’S CHILDREN REBELLED AGAINST 
HER. 


sn 

















\ 











CHAPTER 1 


GLACE’S RECOVERY, AND THE RESULTS OF HER 
SICKNESS. 

jtf RACE came slowly back to life. After the first 
11) days of utter weakness, when, the fever having 
y burnt itself away, she lay barely conscious of 
existence and not realizing her recent danger and 
escape, came solemn thoughts of her hours of terror 
and remorse, and of the vows she had paid in the 
day of her distress. She had been fully shown her 
unfitness for the death that must surely overtake her ; 
and not like some, who with the release from imme- 
diate danger throw aside all their anxieties, Grace 
saw in the prolonging of her days space for repent- 
ance. 

While these thoughts were occupying her mind, 
the mind of Father Murphy was also busy devising 
how he should secure the girl for Romanism. He 
feared that the empire of Romish superstition was in 
her heart doomed to its fall. He thought it possi- 
ble that Grace might have entirely forgotten those 
hours and fears ; but if she recalled them, she must 

2S * 329 


330 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


be convinced that they were the offspring of a brain 
wandering from disease. 

Grace did recall them. Her religious feelings, 
if less wild, were yet as earnest as in the moments of 

immediate peril. Agnes was kept from her; her 

* 

mother could only say, “ Talk to the priest,” and in 
Richard she had not learned to expect a religious 
guide. To Father Murphy, her spiritual director 
from her childhood, she naturally turned. 

“I am going to lead a different life, Father. I 
want to be prepared for death, and what to do exactly 
I do not know.” 

“ That the Church — the only guide in such cases — 
will show you, daughter.” 

“But, Father, the directions and consolations of 
the Church did not do me any good just when 1 
wanted them most,” replied Grace. 

“ They did do you good, but your diseased mind 
prevented your recognizing it. Had you died, now — 
thanks to the offices of the Church — you would be in 
Paradise.” 

“ In that case,” said Grace, “ if I am perfectly 
bale, there can be no more for me to do.” 

“You are safe,” replied the priest, “yet there is 
always something more for us to do. We can rise 
higher and higher in the religious life. Do you feel 
ready to accept the fact of your safety, and there rest?” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


331 


“No, I do not / 5 said Grace, “for I cannot believe 
what you call that fact. I was indeed very ill and 
greatly terrified ; but I was fulJy conscious, and I 
saw plainly that I was in the utmost danger. Eternaj 
loss was before me . 55 

“Then / 5 said the priest, “you must have some 
heavy burden of heresy or crime unconfessed upon 
your soul . 55 

“ No, I have not / 5 said Grace. “ I have always 
been faithful at confession. I felt that I was apart 
from God, unholy and without any fitness to come 
into his presence . 55 

“You had the fitness of a member of the only 
True Church . 55 

“ That was not enough for me / 5 said Grace. “ I 
needed something more. Indeed, Father, the only 
thing that gave me any comfort — and that I could 
not properly seize — was that some one whispered in 
my ear: ‘ The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, 
cleanseth us from all sin . 5 55 

“Very true; it does cleanse us from all sin; but 
it must be properly applied. It must come to us 
through the proper channels — the regular succession 
of the priesthood; and must be made effectual by 
penitence, prayer, satisfaction, penance and priestly 
absolution . 55 

“ Ah, but suppose the wretched sinner at the point 


332 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


of death could not have all these things — he must he 
cleansed by the blood of Jesus at once or die unfor- 
given — what then ?” 

“ You suppose a case which could only happen to 
a heretic/’ replied the priest, “and such an one has 
no right to expect anything but destruction.” 

“Well, Father,” said Grace, “I feel in my own 
soul that I am not prepared to meet my God. Did 
I think I must die to-morrow in just the state I am 
in to-day, I should be in convulsions of terror.” 

“ You would have extreme unction and the prayers 
for the dying.” 

“You remember I did have them, and they did 
not do me any good,” replied Grace. “My Catechism 
tells me, ‘ Extreme unction is a sacrament that gives 
grace to die well/ but it did not give me that grace.” 

“ That was because you were to get well,” said the 
artful priest. “We only get dying grace when we 
are absolutely in a dying state.” 

“ I am going to be sure now,” said Grace. “ If 
there is such a thing as surety and knowledge of 
God’s love, I mean to seek until I find it. I shall 
not live with the sword of destruction hanging over 
my head any more. I do not want to know that 
death by some sudden onslaught can kill me soul and 
body. I want to make sure of my soul, as I have 
never been sure of it.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


333 


“You must be a dreadful sinner,” said Father 
Murphy. 

“I am,” said Grace, simply. “You have no idea 
how wicked I seem to myself.” 

“Worse than Adelaide?” asked the wily con- 
fessor. 

“ Oh, incomparably worse ; because Adelaide never 
had, and quenched, such serious reflections and spir- 
itual longings as I have. Now, Father, what must I 
do ? Or is there nothing I can do ?” 

“Oh yes; you must do a great deal, and the 
Church will do the rest. You had better withdraw 
yourself entirely from the world, and devote yourself 
to Acts of Religion for the present, until you are so 
fully nurtured and instructed in the true faith that 
doubts and fears shall never come to you again. Of 
course you know that if you. are to find peace and 
safety, you are to find it in the Holy Catholic Church, 
and in none other. As you are now too weak ,to do 
much, you can listen to the prayers and readings of 
your nurse, who is a pious Sister, and can meditate 
on the ‘ Seven Works of Charity , and on the ‘Four 
Cardinal Virtues/ ” 

“And what shall Sister Clement read to me?” 
asked Grace, for the nun was for once without any 
disguise or alias. 

“ ‘ Flowers of Mary * will be soothing to your 


334 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


mind ; so will the ‘ Life of Blessed Mary Ann of 
Jesus/ ‘ Life of the Blessed Virgin/ and 6 The Month 
of Mary/ Something calming and elevating is what 
you want now/’ 

“ I want something to teach me,” groaned Grace, 
hiding her face on her pillow. 

If the “ Purgatorian Consoler” had then been pub- 
lished, very likely the reverend Father might have 
recommended that. 

While Sister Clement tediously read the books 
which the priest had indicated, or at times the prayer- 
book and the u Spiritual Exercises,” the earnest crav- 
ing after truth grew in Grace’s soul day by day. The 
memory of her terrors was abiding. Hers was nu 
excited, frantic truth-seeking. It was an earnest, 
steady reaching to the light. The Spirit of God was 
at work in her, and all the false soothing of her re- 
ligion would not lull her into indifference. As her 
health returned, and she regained her usual strength, 
so that Sister Clement need no longer hold her posi- 
tion as nurse, and as Father Murphy saw that his dis- 
ciple had no mind to return to the follies of the life 
she had been living, and to leave the great question 
of her salvation yet unsettled, he proposed that she 
should go to the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of 
Mary, and there remain until her mind regained its 
accustomed tone. We suppose the excellent Father 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


335 


judged that, if it were possible for conviction of sin 
and desire after holiness to be quenched, convent life 
was the most effectual means of doing it. 

To this plan Grace readily assented, for she was in 
earnest after salvation, and would take any means to 
obtain it. If her priest recommended the solitude 
and gravity of a cloister life for a time, that she would 
accept. 

Mr. Kemp thought his daughter feeble in health, 
and that retirement would be beneficial to her, and 
Mrs. Kemp, since losing Adelaide, had lost her zest 
for the gayeties she had loved, and experienced some 
mortification in meeting her fashionable friends. She 
was glad that Grace would not at once demand a re- 
newal of last winter’s amusements ; and besides, she 
had deemed it proper to put on mourning for Mrs. 
Schuyler, and that would also be a hindrance. 

Richard remonstrated, but no one heeded him. 
Richard was not living at home now. He was in 
the late residence of Mrs. Schuyler. Mrs. S( lmyler 
had left Richard her sole heir, providing that, if 
Lilly left the convent and returned to Protestantism, 
the house, its furnishing and one-half the remainder 
of the property should be hers. One clause in the 
will earnestly prayed Richard to keep the home in its 
present state, and to comply with this request the 
young man took up his abode there, served by the 


S36 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


old family servants who had for years lived with his 
aunt, Hannah only not remaining. Her occupation 
was now gone, and she departed, having received a 
sum left her by her mistress sufficient to enable her 
to set up housekeeping in two rooms with an aged 
aunt, and also having received Mrs. Schuyler’s sewing 
machine, by which she knew well how to earn her 
daily bread. 

From Lilly, the fact of her mother’s increasing 
illness, and at last of her death, had been carefully 
concealed. She was assured that her mother had re- 
covered from her excitement and distress of mind, 
and was living very comfortably in her home, in im- 
proving health. 

The young nun was permitted to see none of he: 
relatives and none of her former acquaintances. She 
was told she must be fully weaned from the world 
wherein she had lived, that she must be dead to it, 
and that to bring about this happy result she must 
see and hear nothing from outside life until such 
sights and sounds could find her utterly unmoved. 
In this policy Grace was carefully instructed when 
she was recommended to find in the convent a refuge 
from the beseechings of the Spirit of God. But 
Grace was of very different stuff from Lilly, and 
with her different arguments were needed. 

iC You must by no means give Lilly information 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


337 . 


of her mother’s death/’ said the Abbess. “ The dear 
child has an aggravated form of heart disease, 
and the news, however carefully told, w T ould kill 
hex.” 

“ But how shall I answer if she asks me ?” said 
Grace. 

“She has been forbidden to ask you any ques- 
tions.” 

“But, Mother, I should think the torture of 
anxiety and suspense would be worse to her than 
any certainty.” 

“Daughter ‘Mary Anna’ has learned that obedi- 
ence is a pleasure and not a torture,” replied the 
Abbess. 

Gi'ace doubted if obedience were the pleasure it 
was suggested to be, when she saw Lilly’s large, 
mournful (yes following her at times with such a 
look of anguished questioning and entreaty. She 
would return the look only by a glance of love, 
melting into tears. The two cousins were kept much 
apart. Grace was not a “ religious.” She was not a 
suitable companion for the younger nuns. She must 
find her society in the Abbess and older Sisters, who 
could instruct her. Lilly was not a teaching Sistei', 
nor a lay Sister, and was therefore kept. apart from 
the pupils and from the work of the outer world. 

Grace was neither a pupil nor cf Sister, but had come 
29 w 


338 


PRIEST AND NUN 


to find sj)iritual instruction, and she also was kept 
apart from the school. The two led very secluded 
and also unhappy lives. 

Lorette, the French nun, frequently sought Grace 
when she might converse with her alone. 

“ What brought you to a convent ?” she asked. 

“ I wish to be better.” 

“And you came to a convent to grow better !” cried 
Lorette, with a scornful laugh. 

“Yes. That is, to give my undisturbed attention 
to religious things.” 

“What,” replied Lorette, “should interest a hand- 
some young girl like yourself in religion ?” 

“ Because,” answered Grace, “ life must inevitably 
end in death, and I wish to learn to die well.” 

“ Extreme unction will give you that grace,” said 
Lorette, sneeringly. 

“A changed heart more likely,” said Grace. 

“ Eh !” cried Lorette, “ that is what the Huguenots 
and the Paris Protestants are always prating about. 
We don’t deal in such things. Pm afraid you are 
not a good Catholic.” 

“ Oh yes, I am,” returned Grace, earnestly. “ I 
am sure I am.” 

“ Good Catholics do not worry themselves about 
dying. Come, I will tell you how to do it. Shut 
your eyes and make the leap in the dark, just as if 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


339 


you were jumping from yon roof of the convent. It 
is sure destruction any how.” 

Grace shuddered and drew hack : 

“ You would not talk so if you had ever been as 
near dying as I have.” 

“And you would not talk so if you had grown as 
sick of living as I have. To go back to the roof, I’m 
sure it would be easier to make up one’s mind, set 
one’s teeth and jump off, than to wait in horror for 
some one to push you over.” 

“Ah, but the pushing one could not help. To 
voluntarily take such a leap to certain death would 
be a great sin.” 

“And when one’s sins are piled as high as a moun- 
tain, what harm to add a little more, a coup de grace , 
eh? But if you are getting on that discussion of 
right and wrong, excuse me, for I am weary of it. 
We cannot measure that, even in France, where we 
discuss everything.” 

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” is an adage almost 
too common to quote. It proved true in Grace’s 
case with the convent. The gloss of tliat life wore 
off, and she saw the children of the convent as trivial, 
as fickle, as irreligious in absolute fact, as the children 
of the world; and more aggravating, as they were 
more narrow-minded and capable of more petty 


meannesses. 


340 


PRIEST AND NUP 


Grace wondered if Lilly saw things as she did, and 
if being bound for life to these people and this home 
were wearing her to a shadow. But Lilly was neither 
keen sighted nor censorious. If a little condemnatory 
thought crept into her mind, she banished it as unjust 
and inconsistent with her vow. 

When Grace unfolded her thoughts about the 
Sisters to the Abbess her aunt, Mother Hobart 
smiled. 

"My daughters are not what they should be, I 
admit,” she replied, “ but that you must attribute to 
their own infirmity, and not to the rule under which 
they live. You see in Sister Mary Anna a true 
Sister. I trust my daughters can find nothing amiss 
in me, If you read the Lives of the Saints, the Lives 
of Saint Bridget, Saint Agnes of Rome, Saint Zita, 
Saint Margaret of Cortona, Saints Elizabeth, Theresa 
and Angela, you will find those whose example you 
should emulate, and whose holiness there is every 
hope that as a Sister you would approach.” 

Indeed continually before Grace was now set a 
convent life as her highest aim. Her priest, the 
Abbess, Lilly, when allowed to speak to her, the 
elder nuns, all by sly suggestions urged this consecra- 
tion upon her. 

“You may do better than the rest; you may re- 
form the convent. You are stronger-minded than 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


341 


Mary Anna, and you could have more positive influ- 
ence,” said Father Douay. 

Ann Mora had been permitted to go home until 
Grace should need her services again. She came up 
to the convent in great trouble. Her mother was 
very ill, and she wanted Miss Grace to come and see 
her, and one of the Sisters. Grace had frequently 
been sent out with one of the nuns to visit the sick. 
It was one of the means they were using to beguile 
her. She now went with Saint Cecelia to the bed- 
side of Mrs. Mora. The woman was evidently very 
ill. The sight of a person so near death revived in 
Grace’s mind all the terrors she had herself experi- 
enced. 

“Are you afraid to die, Mrs. Mora ?” she asked. 

“ I was,” said the woman, “ but I ain’t now.” 

“ Have you confessed yourself?” asked Saint Ce- 
celia. 

“ I have that, and got absolution.” 

“ Of course, then, she need have no fears, and she 
has always lived a good Catholic,” said Saint Cecelia. 

There was one very good thing about Saint Cecelia. 
She had an absolute passion for nursing the sick. 
She was not less eminent as a nurse than as a scribe. 
She delighted in “ sick-room cookery,” and in com- 
pounding pills and teas, as thoroughly as any wise old 
New England grandmother. She was given far more 


342 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


in her visitations to healing the outer than the inner 
being, which was fortunate ; for she was a good nurse 
for the body, but when it came to the mind, there 
poor Cecelia was the most miserable of spiritual 
quacks. She now felt sure that Mrs. Mora needed a 
drink and a poultice of true convent make, and going 
to the stove in the small place used as a kitchen, she 
was soon in her element, cooking and stirring, and, if 
the truth must be told, filling the room with vile 
odors. But this drink and this poultice must be ad- 
ministered hot, therefore must be made then and there. 

While Saint Cecelia was thus busied at the stove, 
Grace sat by Mrs. Mora. "It is not so much con- 
fession and the priest that comforts me and makes 
me content to die,” she said in a faint voice ; “ but 
Pat and Ann have a deal to tell me that cheers me 
amazing. There’s Ann’s old verse about the cleans- 
ing blood ; that is food and medicine. Then there’s 
another about { Look unto me and be saved,’ and 
there’s ‘ Lord, remember me for good,’ a prayer which 
it does me more good to say than all the ‘ A ves’ in the 
book. You soe, miss, I’m a poor, ignorant woman, 
and belike not wise enough to feel the priest’s talk. 
And Pat, he bids me never tell the priest of his say- 
ings, or I’d get him into the cathedral dungeons, he 
says, which, you know, miss, I could never do for 
my boy. Ann says, You can trust Miss Grace, says 


PRIEST AND NUN 


343 


Aim. Says [ to tae boy, Pat, tell me no more that 1 
may not tell th* priest; but Pat tells on, and Pve 
no heart to stop k\u; it does me such a power of 
good.” 

“ Well, if it comfc vrs you, believe it,” said Grace 
“ When I was sick I o*ould not find anything to do 
that would help me.” She spoke sadly. * 

“And it is not doing that is our part, Pat says, 
lie’s been to a Mission of some sort, evenings, miss. 
Don’t tell of him, dear. His father thinks he’s roys- 
tering round town, but he’s at his learning mean- 
whiles, and he knows how to talk better than a 
priest of them all. ‘ Mother,’ says he, ‘ it isn’t that 
you can do anything. Quit your hold, mother, and 
just drop right into them strong arms as is held out 
to you.’ ” 

“ The priest told me that — to fall into the arms of 
the Church ; but I must have been very wicked, for 
it did not help me,” said Grace. 

“We’re all wicked, dear; but it was not falling 
into the arms of the Church Pat meant. His river- 
once told me that, and never a thought of comfort 
did it do me. Says Pat, ‘It is not the Church, 
mother ; j ust drop into the strong arms of the Son of 
Mary himself.’ It’s my believing, miss, that we don’t 
iiear half enough about him. How could we? there’s 
such a host of saints for us to learn of.” She sighed 


344 


PEIEST AND NUN. 


as if oppressed by her knowledge of the holy saints, 
and here Sister Cecelia came in with her tea and 
poultice. 

Grace had gone there to do good, but it seemed to 
her as if she carried away more good than she 
brought. That, however, is a common experience. 

Grace, in the position of a spiritual patient at the 
Convent of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, was not 
improving in a manner to suit her physicians, Fathers 
Murphy and Douay. They considered that a change 
of treatment might be efficacious. If the Convent 
of the Immaculate Heart of Mary was the theologi- 
cal apothecary shop, the House Without a Name was 
the theological water-cure, and (hither it was consid- 
ered expedient to send her. 

The conversation with Mrs. Mora, giving her a 
little light, only increased her agitation. Where 
were those strong, ready arms ? Of ichat should she 
loose her hold, to cast herself into them? Would she 
assuredly be held in a rescuing clasp? 

Harassed by these doubts, the proposal to send her 
to another convent was welcome. She was sick of 
the shallowness and falseness of her present abode. 
She firmly believed that somewhere in the Catholic 
Church she should find the truth she sought; and 
this new convent, “ small and of strict rule,” might 
show it to her. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


345 


She requested permission to go once more with 
Saint Cecelia to visit Mrs, Mora; and the Abbess, 
seeing nothing singular in this, as Ann had been 
Grace’s maid and very faithful during her young 
mistress’ illness, gave the required permission. 

Saint Cecelia had no poultices to attend to, and 
kept close to the young lady and the patient. 

“And you feel happy and ready to die?” queried 
Grace. 

“ All good Catholics do,” said Saint Cecelia, 
rebukingly. 

“ I’m trusting in the Lord Jesus,” said Mrs. Mora. 

“ I hope you are not forgetting your patron saint,” 
said the nun. 

“ I try to forget nothing,” said Mrs. Mora ; “ but 
my mind is weak like, and I’m only able to hold 
fast a little that’s good.” 

“ You must have Ann read to you in the prayer- 
book,” said Grace. 

“ She does,” replied Mrs. Mora, “ and some of it I 
take to wonderful.” 

“You ought to ‘take to’ all of it,” said Saint 
Cecelia. 

“There’s some of it I don’t understand,” sub- 
mitted the invalid. 

“ Oh well, there’s the misfortune of being igno- 
rant,” said the Saint. 


346 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“Ann reads me the Act of Contrition from hex 
Catechism, and I understand that,” said Mrs. Mora. 

“ I think you are doing very well,” said the nun, 
presently. 

Mrs. Mora was w^eak and dropped into little dozes 
even as she w r as talking. She came out of one just 
then, and muttered, 

“It’s the blood— the blood, miss, as does it all.” 

“She’s wandering,” whispered the nun, and signi- 
fied that the visit had better end. They left the room, 
and then the nun returned for a moment, leaving 
Grace in the hall. The door of a room opposite to 
where Grace stood was open. A girl, evidently in a 
consumption, lay on a bed, and near her, reading 
from a Bible, was a v r ell-dressed young woman vdiose 
back was turned toward the door. As Saint Cecelia 
came out of Mrs. Mora’s, the reader had probably 
come to the end of her chapter, for her voice was 
still. 

“ That is one of those foolish Bible-women,” said 
Saint Cecelia, going down stairs. “Just as if com- 
mon people could understand the Bible !” 

Yet Grace thought it a sweet scene, and she had 
observed that the face of the consumptive was as 
earnest and peaceful as an angel’s might be. 
******* 

Sister Clement conducted Grace to the House 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


347 


Without a Name. They went, as usual, by a crooked 
and indirect route. Said the nun to her young 
charge, 

“You will find this House very different from 
yonder convent. We are not the Sisters of ease and 
luxury. But with us life is short and eternity long. 
Religion is our business, and we seek not to please 
ourselves, but to save our souls in the Church's way. 
We are the workers of the Church, and we are few 
in number, quiet and stern in our lives. It has been 
my lot to live — in my business as nurse — in many 
wealthy homes. I have not reaped the full benefit 
of our Institution ; but I have done my duty, and 
look to my reward." 

Thus Saint Clement magnified herself. 

The nun unlocked the side gate and with Grace en- 
tered the rear of the building. The kitchen was dark- 
ened by the high fences of Michael Shinn's stables ; 
but it was clean, and in the open oven loaves of bread 
were slowly baking, while a kettle of vegetables sim- 
mered on the top of the stove. No cook was visible. 
They passed into the refectory, which was silent as 
a grave. There was the long table with its delf 
w^are and ne cloth, and with stools placed far apart 
on either side. The blinds were closed, and the little 
light in the room came through the upper part of the 
windows. The place was chilly and gloomy. 


348 


PRIEST A XI) XUX. 


“ They are in the chapel,” said Sister Clement, 
and led Grace through the bare hall to the oratory. 

Here were plain seats, two shrines, an altar cov- 
ered with an embroidered cloth, bouquets of wax 
flowers under a picture of “ Our Lady of Sorrows,” 
and on the bare floor five or six nuns kneeling, pray- 
ing in rapid undertones. 

The gloom, the severe plainness of the whitewashed 
walls, the bare floors and benches, the altar with its 
unlighted tapers, the ghastly crucifix of ebony with a 
figure in carved ivory and gilded rays glaring behind 
the figure, the agonized face of the pictured Virgin 
gleaming down from its black frame, the. shrine at 
the left, where Ignatia’s patron saint, Mary Magdalene, 
was painted as kneeling with disheveled hair and box 
of ointment broken in her hand, — all these things, to- 
gether with the bowed, sw T aying, black-robed figures 
of the nuns, and the wailing sound of their subdued 
voices in prayer, touched Grace’s heart. Like Clem- 
ent, she dipped her hand in the basin of holy water 
at the chapel door, crossed herself, and kneeling in 
the narrow aisle, joined her voice to the others in 
prayer. 

The devotions of the hour over, Ignatia rose, and 
without a glance at any one, left the chapel, the Sis- 
ters following in their order, the cooks going toward the 
kitchen, the other nuns (only four of them now) en 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


349 


tering what we may call, despite its poverty, their 
parlor. Clement and Grace closed this little pro- 
cession, and once in the parlor, handed Mother Igna- 
tia a sealed note from the Abbess Hobart. When 
Mother Ignatia had read it, 

“This is the young Sister,” said Clement. 

“Beloved daughter, you are welcome,” said the 
Superior, with something of a wistful look at her new 
charge. 

She then exchanged a few words apart with Clem- 
ent. As they were speaking the clock struck twelve. 
The nuns all rose and with much seriousness repeated, 
“ Blessed be the hours in which our Lord was born 
and crucified for us.” They then went silently into the 
refectory, Clement taking the place of honor next the 
Mother, and Grace, as the last comer, being placed at 
the foot of the table. All remained standing while 
Ignatia prayed : “ Bless us, O Lord, and these thy 
gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, 
through Christ our Lord ;” and then all joined in low 
tones, “ Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with 
thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is 
the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary ! Mother 
of God! pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of 
our death.” 

They now seated themselves to eat. Grace found 
the bare table and coarse plate repulsive, the high 

30 


350 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


stool most uncomfortable; and for one who had fared 
sumptuously every day the plain vegetables boiled 
with salt meat, and the brown bread with its modi- 
cum of butter, were exceedingly distasteful. For the 
annoyance she experienced at these things she took 
herself seriously to task. 

“ How can I repine at such trifles when my soul 
is in jeopardy every hour? How can I consider 
these things too mean for me, when I know I am 
undeserving of a moment’s existence?” 

No one spoke during the meal. When it was 
ended they bent their heads, and Ignatia said, 

“ We give thee thanks, O Almighty God, for all 
thy benefits, who livest and reignest, world without 
end ;” and all the nuns added, in a low chorus, “ O 
most Holy Virgin, who hast had the happiness of 
being the Mother of God, be a mother to me. Pray 
for me, now and at the hour of my death !” They 
then returned to the parlor, and took their work — 
endless embroidery — from a box, and bending over it, 
they whispered, “ O my God ! I offer to thee this 
work! Vouchsafe to give it thy blessing! O my 
good angel ! protect me! enlighten me! guard all my 
actions !” 

“ Now, my daughter, follow me,” said Ignatia to 
Grace, and led her from the parlor to the upper part 
of the house, to a narrow room — her own apartment 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


351 


The furniture was of pine painted white, and con- 
sisted of a low, narrow bed, a chair, a table with a 
missal and a crucifix, and a small shelf against the 
wall, by the side of which hung a metal basin foi 
toilette purposes, fastened by a chain. Ignatia sat 
down on the foot of the bed, gave Grace the chair, 
and gazed long and sadly at her. The fire within 
had burnt away Ignatia’s flesh and the healthful 
color from her cheeks. Her hair lay prematurely 
whitened on her furrowed brow. Her eyes were 
sunken, and told the piteous, simple, old-time tale — ' 
“ They lifted up their voice and wept until they had 
no more power to weep.” Ah, that was no good 
gray head whitened with the almond blossoming of 
age, but a head bleached like dry bones by the burn- 
ing heats and tempests of life. Before her was Grace, 
cast after the fairest model of girlhood, a favorite 
child of luxury, with small white hands and. dainty 
skin, her silken chestnut hair bound closely about her 
well-shaped head, her figure elastic and healthful, her 
dress bespeaking wealth and refined taste, all marking 
her as coming from a far softer sphere than this. 
Amid the bareness and the meanness of these sur- 
roundings, she was like some fair, tropic blossom 
set within a Greenlander’s poor dwelling. 

" Child, what brought you here ?” asked Ignatia, 
^ialf impatiently. 


352 


PRIESl AND NUN. 


“ Because I think my soul of greater worth than 
anything else, and I want it to be safe.” 

“ You can never have done anything to jeopardize 
your soul,” said Ignatia, wonderingly. 

“ I cannot trust to any such idea as that,” said 
Grace. “ I have been near dying, and found myself 
unready for the change.” 

But after your home — after the convent where you 
have been, can you endure this hard life with us?” 

“ It is hard,” said Grace, “ but it is earnest, and I 
am in earnest. It seemed to me at dinner that every- 
thing was poor and dreary, and I thought how 
worldly I was to care for such things. I wish, Mother, 
vou could tell me what to do. I hear that you have 
left the world and devoted your property to establish- 
ing this House, and that for many years you have 
asked nothing for yourself, but serve yourself with 
the poorest, devote your life to the greatest rigors and 
take upon you every hard burden. You must have 
found peace in this life or you would not pursue it so 
long. They tell me you are a very' holy woman. 
Teach me, Mother, for I want to be holy.” 

“ A holy woman ! a woman that has found peace !” 
cried Ignatia, striking her breast. “ Oh, child, how 
little they know me ! I am only a woman who can- 
not deceive 3^011. I am not holy, for still the old 
corruption cleaves to me, and has eaten so deep into 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


353 


my soul that I have found nothing to take it away. 
The past — the fearful, bitter past — clings to me. 
There is blood on my soul. I have trampled all the 
law under my feet. So vile am I that all these 
years of penance and good works have lifted me 
nothing nearer heaven. Girl, do you, with your fair 
face and innocent soul, come to me to learn the way of 
■ peace t The way of peace I seek with bitter groans 
and tears, and find it not, because — ” and she lifted 
up the wail of the “ Confiteor” — “‘I have sinned 
exceedingly, through my fault — through my fault — 
through my most grevious fault.’ ” 

And Grace, taking up the words, added, “ Where- 
fore, I do beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, 
blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed' John the 
Baptist, the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and all 
the saints, to pray to the Lord, our God, for me !” 

“ Oh, child !” cried Ignatia, “ a million of times, 
surely, must I have entreated all those holy ones to 
aid me. Either they have not heard or my sins are 
far beyond their helping; and still I must pray on, 
for our Church affords us no other way.” 

“ And there can be no other,” said Grace, with a 
‘hought of Mrs. Mora. 

“Other? No: thank God, amid all my crimes, I 
have not added the last and worst — I have never 
been a heretic.” 


so * 


X 


354 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ And, Mother, as I am a seeker after peace with 
God, do you commend to me this way # of practicing 
austerities and good w r orks to obtain it ?” 

“ Yes, my daughter, seek thus and you will find, 
Youi sins are of a dye less deep than mine. Pursue 
this way you find us in, and you will arrive at a 
blessed destiny.” 

Together they returned to the parlor. Grace took 
some work. Ignatia opened “ Raccolta,” a collection 
of indulgenced prayers, and read until tea-time. 
After tea, which was much the same as dinner, and 
was preceded by attending vespers in the oratory, 
Magdalena read the “ Glories of J oseph” until eight, 
when all recited six prayers in the chapel and retired 
to their cells. There were to be other prayers at 
midnight and at daybreak. 

“ Child,” said Ignatia to Grace, “if you would 
serve your God in all humility, leave off to-morrow 
these trappings that only minister to your vanity;” 
pointing to the girl’s collar and cuffs and a set of jet 
and pearl jewelry. Grace, anxious to do her duty, 
obeyed, but felt awkward and half-dressed and untidy, 
involuntarily wasting more thoughts on her appear- 
ance than if she had been suitably dressed. 

Thus the days passed in fulfilling the ritual of the 
convent and in reading of books of devotion “to 
Mary,” “to Joseph,” “to the Sacred Heart,” etc. 


PRIEST AND NUy 


355 


It is natural to the human heart to desire to save 
itself, and to cherish the idea of getting into heaven 
by good works. Grace fell readily into this delusive 
hope. The earnest belief of those about her and 
their fanatical austerities attracted her imagination. 
She thought the nuns at the Immaculate Heart were 
playing at religion, but in this House Without a 
Name they were .truly living it. She became blindly 
infatuated. Ignatia looked upon her as a saint. 
The Sisters, feeling less jealousy of one so far differ- 
ent than they did of each other, petted her. Father 
Douay assured her she was exactly right, and Father 
Murphy, secretly considering that if Grace and her 
prospective inheritance came into this “ House,” its 
bounds might be enlarged, and it might become an 
admirable retreat for those whose faith was wavering, 
added his voice to the general acclamation. Grace 
informed her confessoi that her chief desire was to 
take the veil and become fully an inmate of her 
present abode. 

Sometimes what she had heard from Mrs. Mora 
and Agnes came back to her and filled her with vague 
uneasiness. But these thoughts were uncomfortable, 
and she banished them. Thus the powers of dark- 
ness were striving for the possession of' * our Grace 
against the Spirit of God. 


CHAPTER II. 


RICHARD'S TEST . 

iJpATHER MURPHY undertook to be Grace’s 
ir ambassador to her father, to propose her taking 
the veil. The reverend Father was very glad 
Richard was not present, and with a prolixity of 
speech that would have done credit to the Circumlo- 
cution Office, broached the subject. 

“My daughter take the veil !” cried Mr. Kemp. 

“She has such virtuous intention, imitating the 
example of your niece.” 

“ JBut, sir, I had no right to expect anything of my 
niece. She must do as she chose, and she was a very 
different girl from Grace. My daughter owes some- 
thing to herself, to her family, to society.” 

“And that debt she may best discharge by repre- 
senting her family in the Church,” insinuated the 
good Father. 

My daughter is beside herself — she is moody 
and moping — she is infatuated. I have been consid- 
ering her making a suitable marriage, and here, like 
a baby, she is crying after a white and a black veil. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


357 


Upon my word, sir, Fd as soon send her to a lunatic 
asylum.” 

“And how dare a son of the Church speak in this 
way of her most cherished institutions?” cried the 
priest, angrily. 

“ The institutions are admirable, but not for my 
daughter,” replied Mr. Kemp. “As to the family, it 
is w'ell represented by my niece and my sister-in-law 
the Abbess.” Here Richard entered. “I say, Rick, 
here’s Grace wants to be a nun. What shall we reply 
to that? Order her to come home, get married and 
forget such notions ?” 

Richard marked squares and triangles on the 
office-table with a small ruler. Presently he an- 
swered : 

“No, sir. But I should first bring her home 
and see if that is her fixed and unbiased desire.” 

“It is her settled and unbiased desire,” replied 
the priest. 

“And she is stubborn enough when she gets a 
notion,” said Mr. Kemp, gloomily. 

“I do not think you can change her mind by any 
fair means,” said the polite priest. 

“ We shall use no unfair means,” retorted Richard. 

So Grace was brought home, and was found reso- 
lute enough. A nun she would be, and nothing else. 
Her soul was above all price, and here was the only 


358 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


way to save it. She was disgusted with the world 
and all its follies. She wanted something real, and 
could find it in the convent. 

Father Murphy came often to Mr. Kemp’s house. 

“ I am glad your sister feels and expresses herself 
so earnestly/’ said he to Richard. “ It may convince 
you that our Sisters are not, as you claim, a body of 
deceivers.” 

“ I never claimed that,” said Richard. “ They are 
themselves, for the most part, thoroughly deceived. 
Weak-minded and half educated, fed on superstition 
from their cradles, they are puppets in your hands — 
your stool-pigeons to catch other unwary youth.” 

To Grace, Richard said : 

“ I’m astonished at you, Grace ! Why will you 
throw yourself away ?” 

“ I am not throwing myself away,” replied Grace. 
“ I have found the best way of living. I shall give 
myself to good works. I do no longer belong to my- 
self — I belong to God — to the Church. You remem- 
ber, Rick, 

* Heaven doth with us, as we with torches — 

Not light them for themselves/ 

I am now to live for the light of others.” 

Richard looked fondly in her eager, resolute young 
face. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


359 


u I will reply to you from that same author : 

‘ Oh, cunning enemy, that to catch a saint, 

With saints doth bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation that doth goad us on 
To sin in loving virtue/ 

Poor Grace ! you want to do right, but you are taking 
a lamentably wrong way.” 

Said Mr. Kemp to his son : 

“ Rick, what is to be done ? that girl is bent on 
destruction.” 

“ It is a pity you didn’t see that in Lilly’s case,” 
said Rick. 

“ That was very different. Lilly was fit for noth- 
ing else, but Grace would be completely thrown away. 
What can we do ?” 

u Listen to my wisdom,” quoth Rick. “ Grace is 
obstinate and you cannot alter her. But you can 
make the priest refuse her. Just, tell him that if 
she will be a nun she may, but you shall consider her 
thus provided for, and shall at once cut her off from 
any share in your property. Do that. Offer to draw 
up the will cutting off the ‘ min’ at once, and let the 
priest see it; and I tell you he wcn’t have her. They 
want her money.” 

“ Eh ! think so ?” cried Mr. Kemp. 

“ Take my word for it. Try it — come now.” 

Mr. Kemp slapped his son jovially on the shoulders. 


360 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“Rick, you’re my comfort. Counselor Kemp 
your good health. I’ll try that priest this very 
day — but — suppose, Rick, he wants the girl any 
way ?” 

He won’t,” said Rick ; 16 but, if he does, I’ll take 
her off on a trip to Europe, to give her a better mind. 
Just say to him, ‘ If you gel; my girl, you get her por- 
tionless.’ Try it.” 

Mr. Kemp did try it. The priest argued, he 
raged ; but Mr. Kemp got more firm. 

“ If Grace enters any convent, she forfeits all share 
in my property, and the whole estate will go to Rich- 
ard. If she enters after my death, she must give up 
all she has inherited. She shall inherit property only 
on condition that she is never a nun.” 

“The Church will anathematize you,” cried the 
priest. 

“ In America we don’t mind that” said Mr. Kemp. 
“ I can go back where I came from, and I vow if [ 
do, I’ll build a mission chapel for a peace-offering.” 

Both priest and Mr. Kemp lost their tempers, and 
were sufficiently hot and ridiculous. However, next 
week, after seeing the Abbess, and finding from her 
that there was no hope of changing Mr. Kemp’s 
mind, Father Murphy told Grace to give up all 
thought of her “ vocation,” and serve the Church in 
society — “ Children ought to obey their parents.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


361 


“Not when parents resist the Church*” ilamed 
Grace. 

“ The Church resigns her claims,” said the priest, 
meekly. 

Grace persisted. The Father persisted. He would 
not have her now on any account. 

Grace cried and sulked and stormed in a very un- 
♦ difying and unchristian manner ; but everybody was 
obdurate, and finally yielding, as the weak must, to 
the parties in power, she said that she would spend a 
month in the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of 
Mary to get reconciled to her disappointment, and 
would then return to such life as her parents dic- 
tated. The world, the flesh and the devil had, you 
see, very nearly got the upper hand of Grace. 

At the convent Grace met Lilly alone for a few 
minutes. 

“ Grace, you wanted to be a nun, and they would 
not let you ?” 

“ Yes,” sighed Grace. 

“And you are unhappy about it, Grace?” she 
asked, wistfully. 

“Yes, Lilly.” 

“Oh, Grace, it is the kindest thing — ” She 

chunked herself, twisted her thin hands together and 
looked piteously at her cousin. “ Grace, Grace,” she 
burst forth, “ where is my mother ? my own, own 
31 


362 


PRIEST AND NUN 


mother ?” and then, as if terrified at her disobedience 
to orders, fled away without waiting for a reply. 

The deep religious impressions were already wearing 
away from Grace’s heart. She did not know that she 
had almost grieved away Him who will not always 
strive with men. But God had mercy oil her igno- 
rance. 

She met Lorette. “ Ah,” said the Frenchwoman 
with a sneer, “ the good little daughter cannot be a 
nun !” 

Tears came into Grace’s eyes : “ I do not want to, 
Saint Lorette.” 

“ Ah, trying to get sweet water from a bitter spring 
— trying to breathe in life from a corpse ! Take my 
advice : rush through life until it gets so cruel that 
you can endure no longer, and then make the leap in 
the dark.” 

“ Make it one’s self, Saint Lorette !” cried Grace. 
“ How could one ?” 

“ Shall I show you how ? Soon !” said the Paris- 
ienne. 

“But all reason — all natural feeling — all conscience 
cry out against that !” exclaimed Grace. 

“ For the first, mine is astray ; for the second, it is 
dead ; for the third, I never had it,” said Lorette, 
turning away. 

Grace thought of Antonio : 


PRIEST AND NUN 


363 


“ Ay, sir, where lies that ? 

For I feel not 
This deity in my bosom.” 

Next day a panic spread in the convent, leaped 
from lip to lip and from heart to heart, before Mother 
Robart could cover up all horror with fair seeming. 
Lorette had been found in her cell, stretched on her 
pallet, dead by her own hand. The air of the little 
apartment was loaded with the smell of the poison 
she had taken. On the whitewashed wall over her 
head was written with charcoal, “ I find the begin- 
ning of the end. I have made the leap in the dark.” 

The nuns had crowded into the room. Lilly fell 
fainting across the feet of the corpse. The Abbess, 
ever first to gain tranquillity, said, “ To your prayers, 
my daughters. Leave this body with the nurses. 
Go, pray for your Sister’s soul. I have long known 
that she was not in her right mind, but I little 
thought her insanity would take this turn. Go, my 
children, pray the saints to have pity and intercede 
for the forgiveness of an unconscious act.” 

Grace stood as one amazed. “Insane?” reasoned 
she. “Yes, of course, Lorette must have been 
insane.” Yet still a voice seemed shouting in her ear 
a sentence from that Bible which was locked among 
her possessions at home : “ Except ye repent, ye shall 
all likewise perish !” 


364 


PRIEST AND NUN 


In a moment she recognized her growing indiffer- 
ence, her self-confidence and her spiritual pride. The 
last state of her heart, indeed, seemed worse than the 
first She was bowed with remorse and penitence. 
She sought a retired corner of the chapel and knelt 
just behind the statue of Saint Joseph the Just. Be- 
fore her was the shrine and image of Mary; near by, 
the crucifix, the altar-piece, the figures of angels; 
all about upon the painted windows were pictures of 
the saints. At the door stood a marble angel with a 
sword and scroll. Here were indeed “ all the idols 
of the house of Rome, portrayed upon the walls round 
about.” Here was one of the chambers of imagery. 

In all the convent there was at this time no more 
earnest, troubled spirit than Grace. She strove in 
an agony to pray, but the prayers of Rome died on 
her pallid lips. This was the hour of the Spirit’s 
victory. Before her mind rose up forgotten words 
of the “ Book” she had by turns read and despised : 
“ They have no knowledge that set up the wood of 
their graven image, and pray unto a god that cannot 
save. Look unto Me and be saved, all ye ends of the 
earth, foi I am God. and there is none else.” “ There 
is no other name given under heaven whereby men 
can be saved.” “ And I fell down to worship before 
the feet of the angel; then said he unto me, See thou 
do it not, for I am thy fellow-servant ; worship God.” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


365 


What, indeed, were these images, or, rising above the 
images, who were they to whom nearly all her pray- 
ers were addressed, but fellow-servants of the saints 
and creatures of God’s bounty? u Worship God.” 
It was a sacred spell that set her spirit free. As to 
Huss in the college of Prague, to Luther on Pilate’s 
staircase, to Charlotte de Bourbon in the convent ol 
Jouarre, came the hour of deliverance to Grace 
She saw the way of truth shining clearly before hei 
and in that way eternal mercy set her feet. She sav 
Jesus her all-sufficient Saviour, and between her sou 
and his goodness was now no host of saints and an- 
gels to block the way. To his ear of love could sh( 
address her own plea. It needed not “ blessed John 
the Baptist, blessed Michael the archangel and all 
the saints” to beseech her Lord for her. His own 
compassion pleaded her cause. She left the chapel, 
wrapped herself in her cloak and went out into the 
garden, her, heart full of a new hope which she could 
hardly define. The next few days she passed as one 
in a dream, only longing to get home to read her 
Bible. Saint Lorette was buried with all due 
solemnities. Lilly was in the sick ward, very ill, 
and Grace went, under guard of Saint Cecelia, to see 
ber. 

“ Grace,” said Lilly, “ are you going to be a nun V 
How faint and far away her voice sounded ! 


366 


PRIEST A XI) X UN. 


i No, Lilly, I am going home.” Grace thought 
Lilly’s thin hand held hers with a warmer pressure 
as she made this answer, and that a look of gladness 
stole into her sad eyes. Then there was such a be- 
seeching, longing, intense gaze as almost made Grace 
say, “Dear Lilly, your mother is in heaven.” But 
Lilly was very weak and ill, and Grace dar$d not 
make the communication. Then, too, Saint Cecelia 
was standing by, who would be furiously angry, and 
besides would promptly deny Mrs. Schuyler’s salva- 
tion. So Grace only bent down and kissed Lilly 
several ' lines, and said, “Good-bye.” It was a last 
good-bye, and she went away. 

As she went down stairs, she was informed that 
her father wanted to see her in the Abbess’ parloi. 

“ Come, Grace,” was his salutation ; “ are you re- 
solved to be a nun against the decrees of the Church 
and State, represented by the Abbess and myself?” 

“ No, father, I am ready to go home.’’ 

“Very good then. When will you go?” 

“ To-day — now — with you,” replied Grace, cheer- 
fully. 

“Grace is frightened,” said the Mother. “One of 
our Sisters, one who was mildly insane, is dead, and 
poor Lilly is quite ill. Grace is gloomy, and wants 
to get into the world again.” 

“It is quite astonishing how many of your nuns 


PRIEST AND NUN 


367 


go insane !” said Mr. Kemp. “ That one that ran off 
by favor of Agnes Anthon was crazy I believe, and 
in 1835 I remember there were a number cf nuns 
escaped in different parts of the country, and they 
were all crazy.” 

“ Other people besides nuns are crazy,” said the 
Abbess, shortly. 

“ Yes, yes, I suppose so ; but, after all, isn’t it quite 
enough to craze a young woman to be mewed up in 
narrow bounds, saying prayers and living on meagre 
diet?” 

“ We don’t say prayers all the time, nor do ice have 
poor fare,” said the Abbess, laughing. 

“Well, I suppose you do manage things better 
than they do in some places ; but here is my ‘ fair 
penitent’ in her bonnet. Come, Grace, home with 
you, and in less than a year you shall send your 
Abbess-aunt your wedding-cards and a box of cake.” 

“ No, I won’t,” said Grace. 

“ Bless me ! has the girl got a new crotchet ?” cried 

Mr. Kemp. 

Grace went home. Spring was dressing the earth 
in beauty. As the new summer was dawning in 
flower and leaf and verdant sod, a summer of joy and 
fruitage was growing upon Grace’s spirit. She re- 
turned to the study of her Bible. She weighed Prot- 
estantism well, and conversed often on this subject 


368 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


with Richard and Agnes. As her mother was toe 
self-absorbed and her father too busy to notice her, 
and as she dropped the works of Romanism only one 
by one, as she was convinced of their futility, she w r as 
for the present not interfered with. 

At the convent, Lilly had risen from her sick-bed 
more frail and shadowy than ever, looking like some 
mild, fair, young ghost. Her state moved the Ab- 
bess to sincere pity. She saw that the girl's life 
was utterly wasted and blighted, that she had been 
sorely deceived, and was doomed to an early death 
She was a submissive, faithful, gentle daughter of the 
Church, and against her not one word could be spoken. 
She had claim upon some tenderness and amelioration 
of a life that was evidently too hard for her. Con- 
sulting with the priests and the Bishop, Mother Rob- 
art concluded that the best help for Lilly would be to 
allow her to go out at times with some of the elder 
Sisters on errands of mercy. She could become in- 
terested in the sick and for young children, making 
for them delicacies suited to their condition and arti- 
cles of clothing. The change and the new interest 
might be better for her than medicine, and would 
minister to both mind and body. 

Thus Lilly was permitted to go out with safe 
guides to designated localities — all far removed from 
her early home — and gradually she grew a little bet- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


369 


ter. A new, unacknowledged hope had grown up in 
Lilly’s heart, that in these hours outside of the con- 
vent she might see her mother — might beg her to 
come once in a while to speak with her at the con- 
vent-door, or failing in that, she might have one 
look at the dear face, and, herself unseen, be assured 
'of her mother’s health and comfort. Unhappy Lilly ! 

So the summer passed away. Grace was at Sara- 
toga, Niagara, the Thousand Islands, the seaside, far 
away from Father Murphy, enjoying the society of 
Mrs. Anthon, Agnes and Richard, and others of her 
friends. A gloom fell over them sometimes when 
they thought of Mr. Wynford, who from city to city 
was seeking his lost children, a prematurely old man. 
Here he would think he had a trace of Estelle, there 
of Martin ; but as he sought them, ever, like mocking 
will-o’-the-wisps, they fled his coming. Richard still 
believed Martin at the Belen, and Estelle hidden in 
that city graced by the Convent of the Immaculate 
Heart of Mary ; but Mr. Wynford had hunted there 
in vain. 

Lilly had now grown accustomed to leaving tin! 
convent at times to labor among the sick. The Ab- 
bess felt less anxiety than formerly about these walks, 
and indeed congratulated herself upon their good 
effect, the more as Father Douay had objected to the 

present course of action, and had advocated sending 
y 


370 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Lilly to Mother Ignatia. Mother Hobart did not wish 
Mother Ignatia to be deemed a more experienced 
trainer of young nuns than herself. She secretly felt 
that Father Douay thought Ignatia a greater saint 
than herself, and was piqued thereby. She loved 
Lilly, and did not w r ant her to die, and pointed tri- 
umphantly to her improvement, saying, 

“ If she had gone to our dear Sister Ignatia, she 
would have been in her coffin months ago,” 

The Lord disposes all things as he will. After all 
the days when Lilly had gone out with Saint Maria, 
Cecelia or Sophia, came the first, the only day that 
she w~as out alone. It was a warm day early in Oc- 
tober. Lilly went out with Saint Cecelia on a visit 
to an invalid. Farther from the convent a Catholic 
widow had just died, and Saint Cecelia was anxious 
to hasten to her house, to secure her children for the 
Catholic orphan asylum. Lilly felt too faint to take 
the additional walk. 

“ I will go back to the convent,” she said. “ I am 
very weak to-day.” 

Cecelia left her, and she walked slowly toward the 
not distant convent. Her figure was bowed by ill- 
health, her veil was dropped over her face, already 
nearly hidden in her large black bonnet. Little was 
this Sister Mary Anna like to Lilly of years ago. 
But the eye of love is keen, and good Hannah, pass- 


PRIEST AND NUN 


371 


ing that way, recognized her young mistress. She 
rushed to her and caught her hand : 

“ Oh, Miss Lilly, Miss Lilly, I must speak to you. 
How sick and w T orn you look ! J t softens my heart 
that was growrn hard to you, miss. But how could it 
ever be that them as was to you neither kith nor 
kin could set you against that blessed angel, your 
mother !” 

That name unlocked Lilly’s long-sealed lips. 
“ Hannah,” she exclaimed, “how is my mother?” 

“ And how is she, Miss Lilly ? How should she 
be but well? dear saint that she was, and kind to 
me as if I was of her own blood. Do you ask me 
how she is ? Hasn’t she been in glory these twelve 
moujjis ?” 

“Hannah,” gasped Lilly, clutching the woman 
with both hands, “ tell me, is my mother dead /” 

“Is she dead? To be sure, Miss Lilly. What 
else should she be but dead after dying for six long 
weeks, lying just at the gate, you may say, and could 
neither get out nor in for the longing to see you? 
Times and times did we send, praying you just to 
come to say one good word to her parting soul, that 
she might go in peace, and still you wouldn’t come, 
and still she lingered. Ah, it was a sad sight to see. 
How could you ? how could you ?” 

Hannah had no other thought than that Lilly had 


372 


PRIEST AND NUN 


despised her mother’s dying wish ; and, as she recalled 
the painful incidents of Mrs. Schuyler’s last days 
her heart burned with indignation. In her excite- 
ment and ignorance she hurried on, unconscious what 
effect her communication was having on the unfortu 
nate nun beside her. 

Lilly’s heart had given a mighty bound at the first 
word which revealed her mother’s death. Then it 
had labored slowly and heavily, a chill creeping over 
her ; but still her one thought was to hear the whole 
of Hannah’s tale, that some one word of comfort 
might be gathered from it. The noisy, jostling 
street was no place for such a conference. The stir 
made her sick and dizzy. She forgot the convent 
and its rules. For her the world held now but one 
person — that was Hannah, who had watched her 
mother’s last hours. “ Hannah, I cannot hear you 
in the street ; it makes me sick. Where can I go 
that you may tell me ?” 

“ My room,” said Hannah, “ is in a little court not 
far off. It is a quiet place ; come there. Take my 
arm if you are weak.” 

“ Go on ; I will come after you,” said Lilly, with a 
vague thought of Hannah’s secular dress and of ex- 
citing attention. They proceeded in silence for two 
squares, then came to the narrow street or alley that 
ted to Hannah’s home, and turned into it. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


373 


“ Hannah, your arm !” said Lilly, gasping. “ 1 
shall fall.” 

Hannah supported the thin, trembling frame. A 
memory of the round, rosy, dimpled girl upon whom 
she had waited filled her with tender pity. This 
blanched, withered, sobbing nun was so different 
from the soft-eyed, light-footed girl ! 

“Here’s my room,” said Hannah, unlocking the 
door. “Thanks to your mother, it is decent; and 
the old lady is out to-day, so it is empty for us. 
Here’s the big rocking-chair, Miss Lilly. Here, let 
me nut a stool to your feet and fan you. There, 
you’re faint, my dear. The convent has ruined you, 
miss.” 

“ Water !” groaned Lilly. 

Hannah brought a glass of fresh water, and stood 
with anxious looks until Lilly seemed a little 
revived. 

“Sit down, Hannah; tell me all; when was it? 
what was the matter? what did my mother say? 
how did she feel? Don’t forget anything.” 

“I can’t forget — not I,” said Hannah. “The 
dear lady never gave a smile after she lost you. Mrs. 
Anthon was a good friend to her, and Mr. Richard 
was like a son ; but who could make up for you as 
she doted on, miss ? She went into a consumption, 
and left the house less and less, and she was that 


32 


374 


PBIEST AND NUN. 


meek and gentle, praying and hearing the Bible and 
talking of religion. Don’t tell me of Saints and 
Sisters. I know your mother was holier than any of 
them. A true child of heaven was she, miss, and if 
ever a soul found rest, it was hers, that I know.” 

Lilly’s arm resting on the chair, her face being 
hidden in her handkerchief, and she making no 
answer and giving no sign of life except by the slow 
throbbing of her heart, evident through the folds of 
her black garb, Hannah went on : 

“She longed for you, miss. She could not die 
until she saw you. It’s my belief that that longing 
held her here and kept her out of heaven a good 
month. We sent, over and over again, to the con- 
vent, praying and begging for the love of mercy that 
you’d come just for one hour, but never an answer did 
we get. Nuns, they tell us, are to visit the sick and 
the dying ; but my dear mistress, as might have had 
some claim on a convent, might have died alone for 
all them. Ah, Miss Lilly, she’d watch the door with 
such large eyes by the hour, saying, c Hannah, she’ll 
come — -my only child — my poor Lilly.’ And then 
at night she’d turn from the food I offered her that 
heartsick, and put her face to the wall and pray, miss, 
and all I’d hear would be a sob and your name. Ah, 
my heart aches yet for them days. Why didn’t you 
come, Miss Lilly?” 


PRIEST AND NUN 


375 


“ Go on — go on,” said Lilly. 

“‘Hannah/ says your mother to me, miss, ‘if ever 
you see my poor child, tell her I loved her to the end, 
as she may never know. Tell her I prayed the Lord 
to bring her to heaven, but she must trust in Jesus 

and nothing else. Tell her not to mourn over the 

* 

past, but to see to it that she meets me in heaven/ 
That’s what the kindest mother and mistress as ever 
breathed says to me, Miss Lilly, for you.” 

A pause. Then Lilly impatiently motioned with 
her hand. 

“Well, the end came on, miss, and your cousin, 
Miss Grace, was not like to live, and the nurse she 
was wore out, and Mrs. Anthon took Miss Agnes 
home. We had sent for you again that day, to the 
convent and to the priest, but you never came ; and 
as it grew night, miss, and she saw you were not 
coming, the tears rolled down her cheeks, and she 
being too weak, I wiped them away. Bless the Lord, 
who is more pitiful than men, that was the last weep- 
ing ever she did. Mr. Richard came in to watch. 
She dozed a bit, and that minute she lost herself 
sleeping a little she would say your name. Ah me ! 
I cried like a . baby, and Mr. Rick, he ’leaned over 
the foot of the bed watching her, and, big man as he 
is, when he saw how worn out and sharp her face was, 
and how her eyes were sunk in her head, and her 


376 


PRIEST AND NUN. , 


breath coming shorter every minute, and she sobbing 
in her sleep like a grieved child, he stood wiping 
away his tears fast enough. Well, miss, it’s nearly 
all told now. It was the turn of the night : says I 
to Mr. Richard, ‘ If she lives an hour, she’ll live .a 
day.’ Just then she opened her eyes, and pointed 
up, looking to Mr. Rick. Says he — I learned the 
verse afterward — ‘ And God shall wipe away all tears 
from their eyes : and there shall be no more death, 
neither sorrow, nor crying ; neither shall there be 
any more pain; for the former things are passed 
away.’ She smiled at that, but her smile had got to 
be as sad as other people’s crying. Then she holds 
out her hands, as if groping for somebody in the 
dark. Says I to myself, ‘ It’s a hard lot to be the 
mother of a child and ask for it in vain at the last.’ 
Then she says half your name, and belike she never 
finished it, for she was out of this life the next 
minute, and perhaps she found something better to 
say.” 

Hannah’s tale was ended. She could not know 
Lilly’s unhappy position, and her heart was hard to 
the poor nun. Her hearer sat for some time in the 
same attitude in which she had listened to the sad 
account. When at last she lifted her face, Hannah 
was terrified at her pallor and at the intense agony 
written on every drawn, pinched feature. “ Oh, Miss 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


377 


Lilly, Miss Lilly ! I’ve broke your poor heart. Oh, 
miss, don’t take on so ; your mother left only her love 
and blessing. Miss, that convent is clear poison to 
you; don’t you go back. Bide here while I call Mr. 
Richard, as will put you in your own home and guard 
you from all the priests and nuns in the country.” 

“ Help me down stairs and through the alley, 
Hannah. It is time I got back,” said Lilly. 

“ Oh, miss,” persuaded Hannah, helping her as she 
was bidden, “ ain’t your heart set again them, and 
isn’t your life just eat up with them ? Do you go 
home and bide there, and it is wicked Hannah that 
will work all her life to make up to you for breaking 
to you such news.” 

Lilly made no reply. When they got to the street 
she dropped her veil, said, “ Good-bye, Hannah,” 
and went slowly on her way. Hannah, shading her 
eyes from the rays of the setting sun, looked after her, 
wiping now and then a tear with the corner of her 
apron, and murmuring to herself, “ Poor, feeble young 
thing ! She’s not long for this here evil world. Why, 
why didn't she let me go with her to that jail gate? 
She looks as if she’d drop down.” When Lilly was 
fairly out of sight, the faithful servant-woman re- 
turned to her own room. 

As for Lilly, she felt herself in the hands of her 
foes. She had been cruelly, bitterly deceived. Utter 


378 


PRIEST AND NUN 


falsehoods had been told her. The Abbess and Direc- 
tor had been false to her in this matter — why not in 
others? Yet she was a nun, and the wide world 
offered her no home but one — she had taken upon 
her a solemn vow — orphan and desolate, the Church 
her only parent — so to the convent she turned her 
trembling feet, A heavy blow had fallen upon her. 
Every word of Hannah’s story was burning in her 
brain like fire — her dying mother! her deserted 
mother! — and then, either her mother was lost or 
herself was on the road to ruin. On, on, on, she 
tottered — the convent was in sight — there was the 
gate — but, once within, what should she do ? What 
should she say to those who had lied to her, and who 
had kept her from her mother’s dying bed? The 
last step — her hand reached out to the latch — a mist 
swam before her eyes — the convent seemed to reel 
and bow as in an earthquake — its windows, flashing 
in the sunlight, were whirling fires — the echoes of the 
city were as the surging of the stormy sea or the rush 
of winds through the forests. 

A lit Je later there was a loud ring at the convent 
door. Some passers-by had found a nun lying insen- 
sible at the half-open convent gate, and were bringing 
her into her “home” — the house of the “Immacu- 
late Heart of Mary.” 

Saint Cecelia shortly returned, and told Mother 


PRIEST AND NUN 


379 


Robart how she had parted with Sister Mary 
Anna. 

“ She has been very long coming. She must have 
rested somewhere, and fainted at last from fatigue/’ 
said the Abbess, and then sharply upbraided Saint 
Cecelia for neglect and ordered her to her cell. 

It was long before, under the utmost care, Lilly 
revived. As she returned to consciousness, the Ab- 
bess sent the other nuns from her, lest their presence 
should fatigue her, and herself remained with her 
favorite charge. 

“ My dear daughter, you are very ill,” she said, 
bending over the pallet of the poor little Sister. 

Lilly lifted her emaciated hand and pushed the 
Abbess from her with what strength she had. 

“You have deceived me,” she cried, gazing wildly 
at her. “ My mother is dead ! and you told me she 
was alive and well !” 

“ My child, you are dreaming,” said the Abbess, 
dasping her repelling hand. 

“ No, no — you despised her dying prayer — you 
deprived me of her blessing — she died alone, in sor- 
row ;” and she strove to withdraw her hand. 

“ My daughter, this is a feverish fancy,”' said 
Mother Robart. 

“It is bitter truth. Let me go, Mother; you have 
deceived me ; yes, when I trusted you. I have seen 


380 


PRIEST AND NUN 


one who stood where I should have been — at my 
mother’s deathbed/’ she said, turning away with 
pitiful sobs. 

The Superior was neither more nor less than woman 
—a hard woman, but so is many a one not an Ab- 
bess : in her heart she anathematized Saint Cecelia, 
and then she looked on Lilly with pity, greatly mixed 
with self-upbraiding. Here was happiness wrecked, 
a life untimely blighted, a perfect trust, alas ! most 
foully betrayed. The Abbess had loved this girl with 
what love she had — she loved her still. Anger she 
often felt, but now her eyes were wet with unaccus- 
tomed tears. 

“ My daughter, my dear daughter, I have labored 
for your good,” she said. “In all the world you 
have no truer friend than I. Yes, your mother is 
dead, but I loved you too well to break your heart 
by the news. It was the will of God. We must all 
die some time, my daughter. Complain not of Heaven. 
Address your prayers to those tender interceding 
saints who have tasted human sorrows, and have 
freely offered you their aid.” 

Lilly turned her wild gaze to the Superior’s face. 

“You, you and Father Murphy I have trusted as 
I have the saints. I saw you as God’s holy servants. 
You have deceived me — why will not the saints also? 
Whom can I trust, to whom can I go ?” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


381 


“ Hush, daughter. We have labored for your good 
as we have had authority from Heaven. You are 
a child in knowledge and cannot understand these 
things. All we have done is right and best : be 
humble, yield your rebellious passions, your earthly 
love, and submit to the will of God and the decrees 
of your spiritual guides.” 

What could Lilly do but submit? She was a poor 
bruised reed whom Rome had utterly broken. What 
power of resistance was there in her ? As the weeks 
went by, she gathered enough strength feebly to min- 
gle with the other Sisters ; but her trust and confi- 
dence were gone, she was quite bereft of hope, an 
apathy crept over her, dull and listless she joined in 
her duties, and listened to the voices of others as one 
whose heart was dead within her. She grew to be 
such a tacit reproach to the Abbess that that admir- 
able woman was ready for anything that should work 
a change. 

Father Douay urged again that Sister Mary Anna 
should be sent to Mother Ignatia. The entire change 
might be beneficial. The severe routine might wake 
her from private sorrows all unworthy, of a nun. 

Mother Robart consented to her temporary re- 
moval. Father Murphy was quite discouraged about 
her case. He did not see what was for the best, and as 
she was no longer a temporal interest, as the Church 


382 


PRIEST AND NUN 


had her fortune secure, we may say truthfully that 
the Father did not particularly care what course was 
taken for the short remainder of Lilly’s life, provided 
only she remained a Papist and a nun. Mother Hob- 
art and Father Douay might make her happy or mis- 
erable in their own way. 

Sending Lilly to the House Without a Name was 
giving the spiritual invalid too violent a remedy. 
What was a tonic — so supposed — to Grace, was a 
poison to Lilly. 

Here was a new experience, a hardness, a severity, 
an excitement, which was positively horrible to the 
sensitive, delicate young nun. Mother Ignatia up- 
braided her new charge with grieving over private 
sorrows and cherishing natural affection, when she 
ought to be bemoaning sin and expiating the follies 
of her life. Lilly withered away under this influ- 
ence, like some frail flower under the fierce blasts ot 
winter. She became too feeble to leave her bed. Her 
mind appeared utterly torpid. Mother Ignatia de- 
spaired of aiding her, and Mother Hobart, hearing of 
her low state, had her brought home to the Convent 
of the Immaculate Heart to die. 

Pat Mora, working for Michael Shinn, drove the 
carriage that removed Lilly from the House Without 
a Name, and the honest fellow shed some tears over 
her miserable condition. 


CHAPTER III. 


A DYING ACTOR. 

f (* 

Q AWHILE Lilly was coming back to tie Convent 
J JJ of the Immaculate Heart to die, her cousin 
y" Grace, over whom more beneficent stars seemed 
to shine, was returning full of life and health to her 
home. 

It had not once entered Grace’s mind that any one 
would dare to interfere positively with her change of 
faith. Grace, though brought up a Papist, was a 
thorough American. She was old enough and wise 
enough to judge for herself. All this summer she 
had attended Protestant churches, eschewed Romish 
books, studied her Bible and offered her heart’s de- 
sires in her own words to God ; and she meant to do 
so still. The church of which Mrs. Anthon and Agnes 
were members seemed most like a “ home” to Grace, 
and thither, as Sabbath bells called the hosts of 
God’s Church militant to worship, went Grace and 
Richard. 

Arousing to a sense of this innovation, Mr«. Kemp 


384 


PRIES1 AND NUN. 


discoursed awhile on the “proprieties of life” and 
the ignorance and vulgarity of heretics. Finding 
these words fell like unfeathered arrows, short of 
their aim, she shed a few futile tears, and then, like 
other Romish matrons, betook herself to her priest. 
You see, she never thought of appealing to her hus- 
band, the father of this girl, for any aid or counsel. 
The stout and ruddy spiritual Father and Director, 
who, acting out his natural self, might have made a 
capital Falstaff, was Mrs. Kemp’s “guide, philoso- 
pher and friend.” 

Father Murphy listened, his wrath gathering like 
a winter storm. 

“ I’ll see this wretched and reckless girl,” he cried, 
“ and shall order her to the convent until she recovers 
her senses and takes an oath of future obedience. It 
all comes of your own folly and obstinacy, woman. 
Did I not tell you years ago to use your influence to 
turn your husband against that villain of a son, who 
has poisoned your house, with his heretical blasphe- 
mies? He has told me to my face that our religion 
is idolatry, and is carnal and n ?t spiritual, and that 
the Pope is not God’s vicegerent; and yet, woman, 
you tolerate him, you flatter him, you permit him in 
your house and at your table.” 

“But,” ventured Mrs. Kemp, “the house and table 
are- my husband’s.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


385 


u Soar husband,” shouted the priest, “ is a mis- 
erable, lukewarm, shuffling changeling! He has no 
more devotion than a brute beast, and worships him- 
self and works for himself. The less he has to do 
wifeh you and your affairs, the better for you, mark 
that.” 

Mrs. Kemp wept; not because she w T as distressed 
to hear her husband thus roundly censured, but be- 
cause she was frightened and nervous and perfectly 
amazed and confounded to find this Falstaff in 
canonicals so angry with her. Her tears encouraged 
the wearer of cincture, alb and stole t© yet stronger 
denunciations: “As for you, traitorous woman, your 
allegiance is to the Church first, the Church always, 
the Church only. This man was united to you by 
grace of the only true Church, and just for so much 
and for so long as that Church deems fit and wise. 
Henceforth you will take your orders from me; and 
the first is, that you forbid that scandalous step- son 
your presence; that you neither speak to him nor 
recognize him; and yet further, that you strictly obey 
whatever orders I give you for reclaiming this de 
luded girl, Grace Kemp. If you want authority for 
that, you can take it from our blessed Lady : ‘ What- 
soever he saith unto you, do it.’ ” 

For this blasphemy the Lord did not strike 

Father Murphy dead. God works slowly in mighty 
S3 z 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


S86 

circles, in which our earthly visions see but infini- 
tesimal parts. 

Mrs Kemp was that worst of all caitiffs, a moral 
coward. She succumbed entirely before this outburst 
of priestly wrath, and went home quite ready to obey, 
no matter what was the command. 

The next day Grace was ordered to the parlor, and 
was catechized, lectured, argued with and berated 
for three long hours by Father Murphy. 

She was grieved and then angry. She answered 
as might be expected, sometimes aptly and sometimes 
weakly ; sometimes well and sometimes ill ; was now 
white with excitement, then flushed with indignation, 
and again tearful from passion, but held her own to 
the last. As the contest drew to a close, she kept 
her peace, gathering her forces for a final assertion of 
her faith, while Father Murphy r fairly exhausted 
himself in a mingled exhortation and denunciation. 

“ Sir,” cried Grace, clearly", one thing 1 can say, 
‘ Whereas I was blind, now I see/ God has con- 
verted my soul and enlightened my eyes, and hence - 
forth neither saint nor sinner shall come between my 
soul and its Maker. You claim apostolic succession 
and divine inspiration. I have learned that God 
dwelleth by his Holy Spirit in every holy and con- 
trite heart. Henceforth I accept God as my Father 
and do renounce the Pope; I accept Christ as my 


PRIEST AND NUN 


387 


Mediator, and renounce the mediation of the saints ; 
I accept the Holy Spirit as my counselor, and do for 
ever renounce the. Church of Rome and all her 
delusions.” 

She then rose, and with her head held rather too 
high for a follower of Jesus the Nazarene, left the 
room. Our Grace was not then perfect, nor do we 
think she ever will be while in this body of death. 

Grace was ordered to the convent, that “the Su- 
perior might converse with her on religion but the 
girl knew very well what that meant, and went not. 
Father Douay came to see her, and was even a worse 
enemy than Father Murphy, inasmuch as he was a 
more crafty reasoner and more thoroughly in earnest. 
Still, Grace was aided to detect fallacies, even when 
she was not wise enough or skillful enough to frame 
an answer, and these attacks only left her firmer in the 
faith she had espoused. The Lord had done great 
things for her, and no one could argue their realiza- 
tion out of her rejoicing soul. In these new hopes 
she consecrated herself to Him who had washed her 
from her sins in his own blood, and, standing by 
Richard’s side before the congregation of God’s 
people, took upon herself the solemn vows of the 
Protestant Church. Brother and sister were now 
united in their highest hopes. 

Mrs. Kemp did not once fail in following out the 


388 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


daily* programme dictated to her by her confessor, 
and the result was such a series of persecutions that 
Grace asked permission of her father to take up her 
abode across the way with her brother. During all 
ihis contest, Mr. Kemp had maintained strict neu- 
trality. He would not quarrel with Richard and 
Grace; he would not quarrel with his wife and the 
priest. He had oil-w'ells and silver-mines on the 
brain, but by no means religion either on the brain or 
heart. When Grace appealed to him for permission 
to go to Richard’s home, he signified his royal pleas- 
ure that everybody should do just as they pleased, 
and so Mrs. Kemp soon found herself in solitary 
state, deprived of both the girls from whose suc- 
cesses in society she had hoped so much. She was 
disappointed, and grew sour and low-spirited. 

With that broad benevolence that springs from 
Christian hope and joy, Grace’s heart turned toward 
Adelaide, the sharer of her childish happiness, longing 
to lead her to Jesus. Mr. Kemp’s prohibition about 
intercourse between the girls was not recalled, but 
Grace determined that she would for once see her 
step-sister and unfold to her her new desires. Ade- 
laide had been absent from the city all summer and 
was now no longer to be found in the extravagant 
apartments at the hotel, but in much plainer quarters 
in a less fashionable street, in a quiet and respectable 


PRlPSP lND NUN. 


389 


♦board uv ~ouse, in whose four stories were quartered 
differed \ grades of lodges. Adelaide and her hus- 
band oco pied commodious second-story rooms, while 
madame, ber sister-in-law, was established in a simi- 
lar room m the other side of the hall. Lucy was yet 
retained, but she informed Grace privately that she 
acted as laid to both the ladies, neither being able 
to afford a separate attendant. There was no car- 
riage kep now, and the toilettes of these children of 
pleasure -■ ere less expensive; indeed, Madame Le- 
platte an 1 her brother, Mons. Luolli, had been 
theatrical comets rather than fixed stars, and their 
reign was passing away. Adelaide looked worn and 
peevish, ai d seemed rather irritated than pleased to 
see Grace, i »ut presently assumed a debonair manner, 
which was pvinfully foiled by her anxious, weary 
eyes and the look of bitterness that was growing 
habitual to hex once lovely mouth. 

Grace .inferred that Adelaide had heard of her 
change of religion from Father Murphy; but Ade- 
laide asserted tlfvt she “had not been near Father 
Murphy for an \ge.” She listened with a supercil- 
ious smile as Grave told of her new hope. 

“ I do not wish to dispute what you say/’ she ex- 
claimed, “but though these things are true to you 
they cannot be txue to me. I could not bear the 
yoke of Koine, worldly as it is, and how do you think 

’ 33 * 


390 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


your Puritanism would suit me? My husband be- 
lieves in nothing, and I begin to think that is the 
most sensible creed of all.” And Adelaide laughed, 
her laugh a shrill sad echo of the joyous past. 

Grace’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away 
to hide them. Doing so, she looked out of the door, 
which was set open to the hall, as the room was over 
warm, and saw a young woman clad in blue and 
gray passing up to another floor, a thick, black book 
in one hand, and her blue-lined, squirrel muff in the 
other. Grace recognized the figure and style of dress 
in a moment. It was the Bible-woman she had seen 
beside the consumptive girl the day she was visiting 
Mrs. Mora. 

“ Adelaide, who is that ?” she asked, quickly. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said Adelaide ; “ some 
very common person I suppose. She boards here, 
and has a room in the attic where those wretched 
little dormer windows stick out. She is a Bible- 
woman I think.” 

It was useless to try and impress Adelaide. Grace 
fairly wept over her, and not wishing to meet Mons. 
Luolli when he came back from playing billiards, 
took her leave. She had closed Adelaide’s door and 
reached the stairs, when, taking a sudden resolve, she 
turned and went up staircase after staircase, until she 
arrived at the attic. Tapping at the door, she was 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


391 


bidden to come in, and entering saw the young Bible- 
woman sitting at the window, her head resting on 
her hand and her eyes fixed on a volume in her lap. 

She rose at once, saying, “ Pardon me, I should 
have opened the door, but I was not expecting visit- 
ors. I seldom have any.” 

“And pardon me,” said Grace, taking the proffered 
chair, “ for intruding on you in this manner. I can 
only give a child’s reason for doing so, c I wanted 
to;’ but I think I have seen you before in No. 15 
Anne street. I came from the room of a sick 
woman, and you were reading to an invalid in a 
room opposite.” 

“Very likely,” said the Bible-woman. “I had a 
young girl to visit in that neighborhood, but she is 
dead.” 

“ I was with a Sister of Charity — Saint Cecelia,” 
said Grace. 

The young women started violently, flushed and 
looked away in either fear or aversion, so that Grace 
blushed and explained: “I was a Romanist then, 
but now I am a Protestant — a member of the Fourth 
Church. My name is Grace Kemp.” 

“ I am glad you are a Protestant,” said the young 
woman ; “ so am I one.” But she shook as with 
some strong emotion, and looked about her neat little 
room as if for a place of refuge. 


392 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ You spend your life in doing good and telling of 
Jesus,” said Grace, “and I have a step-sister here, 
Mrs. Luolli, who never thinks of these things; and as 
my father does not like me to visit her, I cannot often 
speak to her of those great themes — the sinner and his 
Saviour. Won’t you speak to her of them somet imes ?” 

“ I never see her,” said the Bible-reader. “ She is 
on the first floor and I live up here. See, I cook my 
coffee and eggs here by the gas, and this is my closet 
and pantry,” pulling back, as she spoke, a sliding- 
door under some book-shelves, and displaying a tiny 
cupboard, where were some tin cans carefully covered, 
a baker’s loaf, and some dishes. 

Grace looked with interest. Here w^as such a new 
way of living ; and the room, with its books, its few 
little pictures, its white bed and gay carpet, was so 
neat and cheery. Still she held to the point she had 
made, and said, even with tearful entreaty, “ But if 
she should be sick, or alone, or unhappy, can you not 
say a few words for the Saviour ?” 

“ I think you are in earnest,” was the singular reply. 

“ In earnest ! Indeed I am !” cried Grace. 

“And you are Grace Kemp?” 

“ I am. Have you heard of me before?’ 

“ Is Miss Agnes Anthon in the city ?” was the 
next inquiry of this incomprehensible young woman. 

Grace readily gave Agnes’ address. She could 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


393 

make no progress in conversation, and withdrew dis- 
appointed, yet attracted in spite of hersdf. She told 
the incident to Agnes. A few weeks after she called 
at this house again. Adelaide was out shopping and 
the Bible-reader had moved. This she reported to 
Agnes. “ I know all about it,” said Agnes, smiling ; 
“ you frightened her away.” 

“ I did !” cried Grace, “ how could I ?” 

“ Some day I may have permission to tell you,” 
said Agnes. 

Not an hour before, this same Bible- woman had 
been in Agnes* little boudoir ; and Agnes had said to 
her, “ Yes, go by all means. You should be neither 
cowardly nor foolhardy, and this will be neither. 
Go and see her.” 

The person thus referred to was Adelaide; and the 
Bible-reader, having gone directly to her from Agnes, 
was even now in her room. Adelaide was lying on a 
sofa, where she had passed most of the day, as she 
was suffering from a cold. Her cheeks w r ere flushed 
with a slight fever, her hair was disordered, and ever 
and anon she passed her hand over her temples to 
soothe their throbbing pain. Her theatrical friends 
had been all day at the green-room, very busy with 
a new play. Adelaide was lonesome. The Bible- 
reader’s was a mild, winning face; you could see she 
had endured sharp trials and conflicts, and her heart 


394 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


had grown old and wise ; she was one of those people 
who unconsciously win every one’s confidence, and 
are the receptacles of the woes of all their acquaint- 
ances, She sat down by Adelaide, chased away her 
pain by the magnetic touch of her cool, soft hand, 
and talked to her in a low, sweet tone that calmed 
the restless invalid like tender chords of minor music. 
Adelaide was pouring forth her troubles before she 
was aware. She was so differently situaced from 
what she had been at home ; she missed the society 
she once could claim ; she had been so rash and 
hasty, and now felt so lost and out of place ; once 
she had everything she wanted, but now she felt 
cramped and narrowed ; her family were ashamed of 
her, and was not that too bad? Sometimes she 
wished she were dead. 

Here the soft-voiced visitor spoke of the hereafter, 
of troubles that should lift us up, should purify our 
souls — “ Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth and 
grievous chastisement works goodly fruit ; and then, 
as Adelaide looked impatient, the Bible - reader, 
striving to recommend the truth, and to bring that 
home by degrees which would not be received ab- 
ruptly, quoted from another source, 


Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 

Which, like the toad ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in its head ” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


395 


Oh, but you know the toad hasn’t any jewel in 
its head !” said Adelaide ; “ and, dear me ! I have 
not told you half my troubles yet; I am getting to 
look just as old ; and then my husband has such a 
cough; and when he plays in the theatre two or 
three nights in succession, he raises blood, and 1 
know he’ll die of haemorrhage; and isn’t it dreadful 
to think so? Now in this new play he has to speak 
so much and so loudly, I’m frightened to death about 
it. Oh, you’ve no idea what a world of trouble I 
have !” 

The visitor tried to tell her of Jesus and of God’s 
love ; and begged her to speak to her husband of these 
things. 

“ He don’t believe in any of them,” said Adelaide. 

“ He would only laugh, and begin to sing F rench 
songs like 

* Au banquet de vie/ etc., 

and then, religion and theatre actors ! who ever heard 
of such a thing !” 

The visitor saw she could make no impression just , 
then, and, as she had no time for gossip, took her 
leave. 

In the same house, in the room she had herself 
lately occupied, was a young girl, a clerk in a store, 
sick, and she was going to see her. She visited this 
girl several times after, and offered her services as 


396 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


watcher with her when she was ill enough to need 
one. Thus it came about, that she was in the house 
a week later, at night; and, about eleven o’clock, one 
of the servants stayed with the patient while the 
Bible-woman went to the kituh&n to prepare some 
things that would be needed before morning. As 
this young nurse was returning to her charge, a 
server with glasses and bottles in her hand, an ex- 
cited group thronged in at the front door. Mons. 
Paul Luolli was carried in by two of the subordi- 
nates of the theatre, and was closely followed by his 
sister and Adelaide. The three were in brilliant 
attire, Mons. Luolli in the dress of an Italian count, 
which character he had been acting. His lace frills, 
gorgeous chains, and velvet surtout were covered 
with ominous stains, and the handkerchief pressed to 
his lips was red with blood. Madame Leplatte had 
hastily gathered up her white satin skirt and velvet 
train, flung about her bare neck and arms a heavy 
cloak, and tied a thick veil over her flowing wig and 
the gilded diadem on her brow. Adelaide, in her 
choicest dress, had occupied one of the private boxes, 
and now her silks and laces and down-trimmed opera 
cloak were spotted, like her husband’s, with the blood 
she had attempted to stanch. A physician followed 
closely after the patient, and Mons. Paul was laid 
back in a reclining-chair in his own room. 


PRIEST A ED NUN. 


397 


The Bible-woman set down her server and went to 
offer her aid, which was greatly needed, indeed, as 
Adelaide and Madame Leplatte could only weep and 
wring their hands in dismay. 

Mons. Paul motioned to indicate the distress this 
occasioned him. 

“ Compose yourselves, ladies,” said the doctor; 
“ we hope to conquer this trouble presently.” But, 
even as he spoke, another rush of crimson put to 
flight his hopes. 

“ Doctor, this is fatal,” whispered the Bible-woman, 
as she aided his endeavors for his patient. This 
was now evident to all. 

“Let us send for a priest !” cried Adelaide. “ Oh, 
Paul, let me send for a priest !” 

But the actor would not give any sign of consent. 
It was a terrible scene — the excitement — the terror — - 
the pallor of approaching death — the fantastic and 
gaudy dresses of the central group. That there was 
no hope was plain to all ; and still, at intervals, re- 
jecting the Bible-woman’s tender words of truth, did 
Adelaide clamor for her priest. At last she was per- 
mitted to send for Father Murphy. 

“ He will not get here for an hour,” said madame. 

After the message was sent to him, the Bible- 
woman seemed listening, amid the silence or the 
sobbing, for some sound from beyond. 

34 


393 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


The dews of death stood on the dying actor’s white 
face. 

“ Only a few seconds more/’ whispered the physi- 
cian. 

“The priest will never get here!” cried Adelaide, 
wildly. 

“ Monsieur Luolli, turn your thoughts to Jesus,” 
said the Bible- woman in his ear. 

The actor’s lip curled, and summoning all his 
strength, he said, “Let me die as becomes a French- 
man and a philosopher. Bring me a glass of wine ; 
your prosing priest will never get here. Wine, I say.” 

His sister handed him a glass of wine, helping his 
trembling hand to hold it. He pushed the Bible- 
woman and surgeon from him, feebly, — 

“Your health, belle Adelaide; we all must die!” 

The glass dropped — a rush of life-blood met the 
wine at his lips. He fell slowly back with one con- 
vulsive quiver. 

“ He has gone,” said the doctor. J ust at this 
juncture, the portly form of Father Murphy ap- 
peared in the door. The Bible-w r oman glided out in 
an opposite direction. 

“ Had you no one but yourselves here ?” asked the 
priest, signing the cross over the dead body. 

“ A Bible-woman was here — but she must have 
gone,” said madame, looking about. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


399 


u x> Bible women are impostors, and flv from the 
fax of ihe Fathers of the True Church,” said the 
pompous priest. 

Meanwhile the Bible-woman had gone to her 
patient in the attic, and had locked the door, and, as 
she moved about the little room, she was praying. 

When the word came to Mrs. Kemp of the death 
of Paul Luolli, she went to Adelaide. 

“ I will order your mourning for you,” she said, 
“ and as soon as the funeral is over you had better go 
to the convent for two or three months, until the 
whole matter has been quieted, and you can after- 
ward come home.” 

She remained with her daughter all that day ; but 
did not return to the funeral. Richard and Grace 
went, however. The body was to be met at St. 
Joseph’s by Father Murphy. 

Richard went in the carriage with Adelaide, and Avas 
to take her to the convent when the burial was over. 

“ It is a poor place for you to go, Adelaide,” said 
Richard. “ You should look to God rather than to 
man for comfort; you are welcome to come to my 
house, if you will.” 

“I’d rather go to the convent,” said Adelaide, 
wearily. “I feel dreadfully, and would only be a 
burden to you and Grace, and it is so quiet at the 
Immaculate Heart. Take me there.” 


400 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Grace remained behind at the boarding-place tw 
gather up Adelaide’s possessions, and to send them to 
the convent with Lucy. All was done at last, — it 
was four o’clock — Lucy had gone — Grace put on 
her cloak and stood by the fireplace drawing up her 
gloves — somebody touched her arm — it was the 
Bible-woman — Grace thought that her pale, calm 
face, contrasted with the cluster of small blue flowers 
and the broad blue strings of her bonnet, looked like 
a sweet wood violet. 

“ Don’t you know me ?” said the Bible-woman. 

“ Yes; but not your name.” 

“ I saw you, years ago, and I was afraid of you 
lately; but Miss Anthon said I could trust you.” 

“ I am sure I don’t remember you,” said Grace. 

“ I saw you with your schoolmates in the chapel at 
the ‘ Heart.’ I was with the other nuns behind the 
grating generally. I was the ‘ Missouri Sister,’ and 
Miss Agnes helped me to escape.” 

“ Is it possible!” cried Grace, seizing both her 
hands ; “ and you a Bible-woman !” 

They sal down before the fire. The Bible-woman 
loosed her cloak and untied her hat, and, as Grace 
listened with intense interest, she told her where she 
had found refuge, and then found Jesus; how her 
parents were dead, and she had recovered some small 
part of their property, enough for her simple wants ; 


♦ 




Death of Paul Luolli. 


Page 398, 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


401 


and how, as health and active labor had changed her 
much, she had ventured back to work as a Bible- 
woman in the very city where she had passed months 
of what seemed a hopeless captivity. 

“ I have done some good I think,” she said, “ and, 
as you see, I dress so entirely different, and look so 
changed that I am not afraid of being discovered, t 
shun all nuns and priests,” she added. 

It was time for Grace to hasten home. She parted 
from the Bible-woman at the door, promising to see 
her often. 

Mrs. Kemp felt sincerely grateful to Richard for 
the kindness he showed Adelaide at this time. She 
would have liked to thank him for it, but dared not, 
on account of Father Murphy. She was not forbid- 
den intercourse with Grace, and sometimes she was 
cross and sometimes kind, and sometimes she stormed 
and sometimes entreated. 

One day she persuaded Grace to go with her to the 
convent chapel to vespers, that they might see Ade- 
laide. Grace went because she had heard nothing 
from Lilly for some time and wanted to see her if 
possible. She had heard that Lilly’s life was des- 
paired of, and again that she was better. She wanted 
to catch a glimpse of her, and give her one sympa- 
thizing look, if nothing more. 

“ You know, mother,” said Grace, "that I go tc 

34 * 2 A 


402 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


vespers as a simple spectator, or, rather, to see Ade- 
laide and Lilly, not to worship.” 

“ What ruinous infatuation !” sighed Mrs. Kemp. 

They were in the street, and Richard met them. 
Grace told him where they were going. “ I will go 
with you,” said Rick, “ everybody is admitted as a 
visitor at vespers.” 

Mrs. Kemp held up her head and walked on alone, 
leaving Grace to follow with her brother. They en- 
tered by the door of the chapel, that opened from 
the street. At the lower part of the chapel was the 
grating, behind which the cloistered nuns were 
gathered. Near this grating was a door opening into 
the main hall of entrance to the building. Adelaide, 
some boarders, pupils and visitors, Mother Robart, a 
few of the “ Saints” and Father Murphy were in the 
chapel, from which most of the ornaments had been 
removed as it was Lent. Grace took her position as 
near the grating as she dared. She thought she saw 
a feeble figure seated in a chair, as one unable to 
kneel and stand, and that a pallid face was turned 
toward her own. 

Grace sat down, with Richard in the seat behind 
her, cast her eyes to the floor and remained peifeetly 
quiet until the services, which were that day of un- 
usual length, were ended. She wished neither to 
honor nor to insult. She felt sorry that she had °rone 


PRIEST AND NUN 


403 


there, when the first notes of the choir fell on her 
ear. She hoped that it would not be construed into 
a concession on her part. How natural to her Seemed 
all the words and acts, filling ear and eye. How long 
she had taken part in them ; and now what rank idol- 
atry they seemed. She wondered that all these things 
had ever been religion to her. She knew just where 
the different persons were standing. There were the 
postulants in white caps and black dresses ; there, the 
novices in their snowy veils ; there, some of the black- 
veiled Sisters ; and here, the cloistered nuns. The 
choir sang the Litany of the Sacred Heart. Again 
the clear, well-trained voices rose in 

“Boot of Jesse, Gate of morn, 

Whence the world’s true light is born 

which must not at all be understood as applying to 
Jesus, but to the Virgin Mary. Then at last came 
the Litany of the Blessed Virgin. Father Murphy 
intoned the Antiphon — Sub tuum presidium confugi- 
mus , etc., or, in plain English, “ We fly to thy patron- 
age, O Holy Mother of God,” etc. 

It went on after three invocations, through forty- 
five different titles of honor to the Virgin — then again 
the antiphon and then the oremus. Grace was very 
tired when it was all over, and wondered that it had 
never been so wearisome to her in other days. But 


40 


PRIEST AND NUN 


m those clays she had believed in it all most heartily, 
and that had relieved it of its monotony. 

The services ended, the visitors began to depart at 
the chapel door. Grace, however, familiar with the 
building, quickly opened the door beside the grating, 
and pulled the bell for the porteress. The nuns, from 
their secluded place of attendance on service, were 
dispersing to their cells, crossing to do so a hall at 
right angles with the one where Grace stood. Lilly 
lingered behind the others. The porteress came run- 
ning along the corridor, dropping hastily on one knee 
as she passed Lilly — for this reverence is rendered by 
postulants to the veiled Sisters — and, obeying tlm 
motion of Grace’s hand, proceeded to unlock tlu> 
great door. Grace for one moment clasped Lilly’s 
wasted hand, gave her one loving look, whispered 
“Look to Jesus,” and hastened from the convent 
She met Richard outside the gate. “ I did not know 
but the monster had swallowed you alive,” he said. 

“Oh, they cannot secure me, I know them too 
well,” said Grace, laughing. 

“ Did you see Lilly ?” asked Richard. ' 

“Yes, poor little creature; she does not look as if 
she would be in this world very long. I thought 
when I looked at her what a farce that set phrase is, 

* Vowed to the perpetual adoration ;’ she seems rather 
rowed to a pitiful endurance. The hall where they 


PRIEST AND NUN 


405 


have their cells is so dark and chilly, and those little 
narrow cells with their bareness and their thick walls 
are enough to kill her. Lilly’s life is now much 
more severe and hard than it used to be ; almost as 
if they were trying to put her out of the way.” 

Richard sighed: “ Yes, and we are going back to 
the house that might have been such a happy home 
to her. I wish she had it now I am sure.” 

“ Adel aide told me she had almost a mind to be a 
Sister, because she hates to go home so. She thinks 
father will be angry at her, and that all her set will 
be whispering arid wondering, and perhaps will not 
recognize her.” 

“An admirable reason truly for a ( religious life/” 
said Richard, scornfully. “ I suppose also her feeble 
mind is beguiled with this glamour thrown around 
holy orders’ and vows, veils and Sisters. It was only 
yesterday that I read a poem on Sisters of Charity, 
that is quite enough in itself tc turn some of those 
weak heads that so greatly abound. The last vterse 
is such a climax of extravagance, and indeed of pro- 
fanity that I cannot but remember it ; it runs thus — 

‘Still mindful as now of the sufferer’s story, 

Arresting the thunders of wrath as they roll, 

Intervene as a cloud between us and his glory 

And shield from his lightnings the shuddering soul/ 

That is the first half, and you see it invokes a Sistei 


406 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


of Charity, as only Christ himself should be invoked* 
The remainder is : 

‘As mild as the moonbeam in autumn descending, 

That lightning extinguished by mercy shall fall, 

While He hears, with the wail of a penitent blending, 

Thy prayer, Holy Daughter of Vincent de Paul/ ” 

Grace was silent awhile, then looking up in hei 
brother’s face, she said, 

“ God has been better to me than I have been to 
myself or I should have been one of these same 
Sisters. But, Richard, many of them are more sinned 
against than sinning. They are deceived, and are the 
decoys used by the priests to deceive others. And 
some of the priests are deceived too. There is Father 
Douay, thoroughly, frantically in earnest; but, if to 
be a Christian is to be like Christ, you could hardly 
imagine any one farther from that holy likeness than 
he is.” 

“ Always excepting Father Murphy,” said Richard; 
“ and what a shocking thing it is that such a trio, as 
our proud, self-serving, self-willed aunt Robart, a 
fanatic like Douay, and a plethoric old glutton and 
wine-bibber, like Father Murphy, have full control 
of the destinies of a houseful of Sisters, novices and 
pupils, like the Immaculate Heart of Mary.” 

“ I like Father Murphy better than Father 
Douay,” said Grace. “ He is more human.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

LILLY'S FLIGHT. 

j|\jVRS. MORA had not long been buried, vhen 
JJJ John, to the exceeding grief of his children, 
brought home a new wife as unlike their 
mother as possible. The second Mrs. Mora was a 
loud-voiced Romanist, fond of quarreling and gos- 
sip, not over tidy, and loving well her whisky 
punch. She particularly disliked Pat, and imposed 
upon Ann many and unthanked tasks. Against 
these things Pat rebelled. 

“What’s the use of biding here, Ann?” he said to 
his sister. “Father’s never been the same since he 
joined the Fenians, and this woman he has brought 
home is the plague of my life. I’m of age and 
making my wages, and you’re of age and can sew a 
rare good hand. We’ll hire two rooms and live by 
ourselves, and you can keep the house and sew what 
you like, and for the rest I’ll take care of you as a 
brother sliGuld.” 

This plan suited Ann exactly. The rooms were 
hired, well away from their father’s abode; second- 

407 


408 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


hand furniture was bought and furbished up ; blue 
and white crockery made glad Ann’s eyes; and, 
having taken what belonged to them from their early 
home, they were ready to set out in life by themselves. 

John Mora was very angry, and so was his new 
wife, who wanted the work and wages of the young 
people. They brought their grievances before Father 
Murphy, and he laid his commands on Pat and his 
sister to live at home, attend confession, and pay their 
tithes, or be in danger of eternal ruin. 

“ That’s not for man to say, your Reverence,” said 
Pat. u The Bible tells us that all God requires is to 
Mo justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with 
God.’ There’s never a word of church or priest in it.” 

The next day, being safely established in their new 
rooms, and very delightfully sitting down to a little 
supper prepared by Ann, and invitingly set forth on 
a brown table-cloth and blue china, Pat said to Ann, 
“ Ann, me girl, let us two turn over a new leaf en- 
tirely. We will quit the Catholic Church, for you 
don’t believe in it nor do I. There’s a tidy little 
chapel near by, and there we’ll go to meetings, and 
we’ll study our Bible and the tracs, as becomes good 
Christians.” 

“Yes indeed, Pat,” said Ann. “ That’s just what 
[’d like. I don’t care for our Church, because it 
never teaches the only thing that comes home to my 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


409 


heart, and that is, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ his 
Son, cleanseth us from all sin/ ” 

The next morning Pat went off to his work early, 
but soon returned with a lowering brow. “Father 
and the priest have made Michael Shinn discharge 
me,” he said ; “ and now what am I to do, with no 
\vork and a house on me hands ?” 

“Never fear,” said Ann, cheerfully. “Scour the 
Knives, and bring water and coal in for me, while I 
tidy myself, and go talk to Miss Grace, and get me 
some sewing. Belike Fll find a place for you anent 
I get home again.” 

Her courage was infectious. Pat performed the 
household tasks she had assigned him, and betook 
himself to reading “ tracs,” while Ann, hopeful and 
vigorous, if she was a little lame, went to see Miss 
Grace. 

“ And so,” said Grace, “ they have made Michael 
Shinn discharge your brother, because you could not 
live with your stepmother.” 

“ Oh, if you please, miss,” replied Ann, “ that 
ain’t all the reason ! We’ve turned, miss — we ain’t 
Catholics any more — Pat and me has been slipping 
away these many years. We don’t feel like that’s the 
Church for poor folks, and it puts us far off from 
God, and the Lord Jesus, miss, and it sets in between 
a host of saints and priests and the Pope, and welJ 

35 


410 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


we know they don’t care for us, so w T hat are poor folks 
to do?” 

“ But, Ann, dropping the Church of Rome, I hope 
you do not mean to drop all religion.” 

“Oh, no, if you please, Miss Grace, we are far 
from doing that ! Why, miss, if poor folks, as 
haven’t got no very great of a portion in this w T orld,. 
have also no hope for the next, again what are they 
to do? Oh, we’re to study the Bible! and being 
ignorant, we are likewise going to Sunday-school and 
church, and if you’ve got any advisement for us, Miss 
Grace, we’d be very thankful.” 

“I will only advise one thing,” replied Grace; 
“ that you do not wander from place to place, but if 
ihe gospel of Jesus is preached in that chapel near 
v t ou, as I am sure it is, that you go there regularly 
rind constantly, and find there your religious home. 
And now you want some sewing ?” 

“ I’d be so thankful for it, and - do my best en- 
deavor on it,” said Ann. 

“ I can give you a parcel, and a note to Miss 
Antlion, who will furnish you with some more. As 
for Pat—” 

“ Yes, miss,” said Ann, eagerly. 

“Tell him to go' to Mr. MacPherson’s office at 
three o’clock. I will go there before that, and see 
what Mr. MacPherson thinks he can do for him.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


411 


Thus Ann went away comforted, and that after- 
noon Pat was hired in a provision broker’s at good 
wages. 

“And it’s a blessed thing to have friends,” said 
Ann Mora. 

Going one morning to do her small marketing, 
Ann encountered Hannah on a similar errand ; and, 
with the ready friendship of their class, they had 
soon exchanged sketches of their experiences. They 
walked a square or two together with their baskets, 
and Hannah detailed her interview with “ her blessed 
Miss Lilly.” “Ah,” she said, “nights and nights 
I’ve laid awake mourning over my hardness to her, 
poor lamb, and I’d go from here to Californy on my 
knees if I might only make up to her for it.” 

“ And you are living now with the old lady, yrmr 
aunt ?” said Ann. 

“J’m living alone,” said Hannah, “the Lord’s 
took the old lady, a thing she was waiting for long. 
I’m no ways lonesome or afraid. I’ve my work tc 
do, and I go about much among the sick. It sa^es 
’em from falling in with c Sisters’ sometimes, and 
‘ Sisters’ is people I own to a grudge to, for haven’t 
they just spoiled and broken up Miss Lilly, that 
might have been now in her own house, the sweetest 
woman in all the city ?” 

And now that the spring-time had come, and the 


112 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


flowers were pushing up through the garden mould, 
through the chill darkness of Lilly’s heart had 
pressed up a new desire. Perhaps something of the 
new life and freedom of spring had stolen to her 
through the crevices of her cell. She walked in the 
convent-garden now and then, and breathed in a 
little added vigor, and this fed her one ardent hope. 
We have mentioned the tenacity, or obstinacy, that 
was in Lilly’s disposition. An idea could gain com- 
plete mastery over her, and all things would minister 
to it. Now she had brooded over the great deception 
that had been practiced upon her, until she had dis- 
trusted everybody about her and had watched them 
for faults. Suspecting evil, she had found it. She 
saw herself the victim of a mighty lie, the prisoner 
of deceivers ; she felt the chains that falsehood and 
selfishness had bound about her cutting into her 
heart, and she meditated only how she might break 
them off and die free. She knew she must die; but 
oh, she longed to die where true faces looked upon 
her, where the blue sky could meet her eyes, where 
the last ministries of earth were the offspring of 
affection, and not of service vowed in ignorance. 
Kneeling in the cell or in the chapel — for Lilly was 
not ready to cast off Rome — it seemed as if the stoue 
walls were stooping in and crushing her, and as if 
the air was thick and poisoned. There she could not 


PRIEST AND NUN 


413 


Btay. She would not be a toy, a puppet in stronger 
hands. She would get away from these her masters, 
and be nursed by Hannah as in her childhood. The 
fitful fever of life should cool from her veins, and 
free, she should sink under the cold, welcome waters 
of death. It would be very good to be buried in the 
potters* field, with nothing to mark her grave, where 
grass and wild flowers should grow above her at their 
will, and barefoot children and homely robins come 
to her resting-place to play. 

Of these dreamings no one suspected Lilly. She 
had long been silent and morbid ; she was the favor- 
ite of Mother Hobart, and yet the Abbess could not 
bear to see her often, she was such a miserable wreck. 
The other nuns thought her some saint, like those 
that had graced the mediaeval Church, and filled the 
Calendar ; they had not the least idea of being like 
her, and did not particularly enjoy her society, yet it 
was quite delightful to witness her holiness, for evi- 
dently the earth would soon rattle upon her coffin-lid. 

Father Murphy was convinced that Lilly’s mind 
was shattered. So long in the confessional her voice 
had died into inarticulate murmurs, and when he had 
plied her with questions, she had started, and replied 
absently, “ I don’t know, Father,” that he had grown 
tired of it, and he had prepared for her a set form, 
which he supposed comprehended everything, and 
35 * 


414 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


had bade her learn it and repeat it; and, as from this 
form he never changed, the question of her weariness 
of convent-life did not come up between them. It 
was not that Lilly had resolved to break her solemn 
vow. She had only a fierce desire to get away from 
the convent, tc some hiding-place, to have Hannah 
near her to tell over and over the reminiscences of her 
mother, and by these, as a tender song, to be lulled 
into a mornless sleep. Hers was indeed an innocent 
plot, to steal away and die like a wounded doe. 

Fixed in this wish, she was alert for opportunity , 
and, not being suspected, she was not watched, and 
being so very feeble and a favorite, she was more in- 
dulged and had more chances for carrying out her 
intention; and so, one morning w T hen the earth was 
sweet with May, she slipped away into the outer 
world. She had hidden her rope girdle, rosary and 
crucifix under a seat in the chapel, and had taken a 
white sunbonnet and a little check shawl from a peg 
near the school-room. Her mind was in such a fer- 
ment, that she was then a harmless maniac, never rea- 
soning, only bent on one thing — escape, — and instinct- 
ively taking the best means to that end. Poor Lilly ! 
it was as if her black veil had grown large, and floated 
cut, and darkened over all the horizon of 'her life. 

She had stolen away. 

1 pause — she had not gone from the grasp of Rome 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


415 


alone — Grace also had gone, and the Missouri Sister, 
and Mrs. Mora, and Ann, and her brother ; and 
Lorette and Adelaide had turned to Infidelity. It 
was thus that the children, whom Rome had fed on 
dry crusts, had rebelled against her scanty providings, 
and some had bethought themselves of going direct 
to the good table of their Father, to claim the chib 
dren’s abundant bread. They would not feed any 
longer on miserable husks, for the Elder Brother had 
cried to them of wine and milk and honey, and bread 
indeed; and, though their tyrant foster-mother 
blocked the way and raised loud hubbub, and put 
hosts of angels and saints and priests and nuns, and 
‘ Father Pope and all his Cardinals to hinder their 
progress, they were struggling into their true Father’s 
house and the table of the kingdom. 

“ Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom 
of God.” 

Now much I fear me, faint-hearted and double- 
faced Protestants, for whose especial benefit I am 
writing, that you will say to yourselves right com- 
fortably, “ If this is the way Rome’s children rebel, 
why Rome is sure to die out, and we need not hasten 
her doom ; let us take our ease and go our ways, for 
Rome is crumbling to her fall.” 

I will tell you, no. Awake before it is too late, 
While some of Rome’s stronger and wiser children 


416 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


are rebelling against her, are coming out of Babylon 
and shaking off her sins, we are feeding her by ten 
thousand streams . Turn your eyes to England, once 
strong in God, and see how there, in one little year, 
two peers, nine clergymen and 2000 laymen and 
women have gone over to Rome. See how, in one 
fleet-footed century, from fourteen Romish noblemen, 
they have come to claim sixty-four, while in the 
House of Commons sit thirty-eight Papists to toil 
for Rome. And in our own country, Father Hecker 
tells us that seven-tenths of all the Protestant children 
sent to Romish schools become perverts ; and can you 
estimate how many such children there are ? Then, too, 
how many silly women with money go over to Rome, 
and take their fortunes to build convents. I could 
tell you of two such not twenty miles from each 
other; and one of these openly avows her purpose 
of using her House entirely as a school for Protestant 
girls, to bring them to Rome, and she already counts 
her trophies by many tens. And unless Protestants 
“ be watchful and take warning” what shall be the 
end? Bloodshed, war, disaster, the wheels of progress 
and civilization reversed, and the fearful drama of 
the last eight years re-enacted with tenfold horrors. 
Verily, 

“ The times are very evil 
And the days are waxing late.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


417 


Lilly, with excited brain, entered the city’s streets, 
now long untrodden by her, and with sudden strength 
pressed on, anxious only to put wide distance between 
herself and the Convent of the Immaculate Heart of 
Mary. She knew not which way to turn. She had 
nothing in common with the fashionable avenues ; she 
was fearful of the foul courts and narrow alleys ; but 
she instinctively turned into quiet streets, apart from 
business thoroughfares where everything frightened 
her, and chose the resorts of humble independence, 
the more, as she had some dim recollection of having 
met Hannah in such a place. This Lilly, who should 
have been a strong and happy woman filling well a 
noble sphere, was a poor scared creature, not fit to 
take care of herself, who would soon drop down of 
fatigue. But the tender Shepherd of the sheep was 
watching over this strayed, torn, bleeding lamb, which 
had been watched by wolves and folded in their den. 
She was going on as fast as she could, beginning to 
stagger a little in eagerness and exhaustion, when a 
healthful young woman in a gingham dress and cape 
passed her, with a wicker basket on her arm. The 
young woman limped a little, but her step was strong 
for all that. She was clean and wholesome-looking, 
altogether* a cheerful and attractive young person. 
She had been to market, and the wicker basket con- 
tained a marrow bone, a bunch of yellow carrots, 2 


418 


PRIEST AND NUN 


bunch of dark green, curly parsely, and some browu- 
coated potatoes, suggestive of good soup. As she 
passed the bent form of the fugitive nun, there was 
such a contrast as forced itself even on bewildered Lilly, 
causing her to utter a feeble outcry, and then, sensible 
of her own utter weakness, to grasp the picket fence 
for support. The cry reached the young woman’s 
ear, and she was one to whose heart the way was 
short and easy. She turned, and coming back, said, 

“ Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid you’re ill — take my arm — 
what can I do for you ?” and looking under the white 
sun-bonnet — “ Oh, Miss Lilly, Miss Lilly.” 

Lilly threw up her hands appealingly. Ann Mora 
understood her, took in at one glance her mixed attire. 
“ Bless you, dear miss, my house isn’t more than a 
stone’s throw from here. This is a by corner where 
no one will see us. I’ll tie on my apron so as to 
make you more changed like. There now, come on, 
take my arm and walk as stiff* as you can. I’ll see 
you safe in five minutes. Don’t fear ; there ain’t a 
Catholic on our street, miss, dear.” 

So Lilly took new heart, and pressed on, and was 
presently in Ann’s second-story room, she knew not 
how ; — but the basket of marketing stood on the white 
pine table, and the door was locked — and then Ann 
had to catch her as she fell and carry her insensible 
into her own little room. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


419 


“B.ess her, she’ll come to after a bit,” said Ann to 
nerself. “ I’ll take off these hateful clothes.” And, 
quick at her office of ladies’ maid, Ann soon had the 
shrunken figure draped in one of her own night- 
dresses — you may be sure she chose the very best — 
which was as white and smooth as the best washing and 
ironing could make it. Then she put a clean case on 
the pillow, and laid the feeble form to rest, spreading 
over her her very nicest pink and green quilt, which 
was far too fine for ordinary use, and so kept folded 
away in a towel. Then she bathed her forehead, and 
rubbed her hands, and when Lilly had come back to 
life again, said, “ Now I’ll make you a cup of tea and 
a bite of toast, miss dear.” This she did, and at the 
same time made the soup for herself and Pat. When 
she brought in the tea and toast very neatly and 
daintily served, Lilly ate and was refreshed. 

“Miss Lilly,” said Ann, kneeling by the oed 
“ whom shall I send for to come to you ?” 

“Don’t send for anybody,” cried Lilly, trembling 
at once, “ don’t, don’t, dont,” — then wailed out, “ I 
want Hannah.” 

“ I can get Hannah,” said Ann. “ I’ll go speak 
with her this afternoon, and bid her come just on the 
edge of evening.” 

“ No, no,” said Lilly, grasping her tightly ; “don’t 
leave me, I’m afraid.” 


420 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ You needn’t be afraid at all ; I’ll lock the door," 
said Ann. 

“ Don’t go,” cried Lilly. “ If they find me, if 
they get me. Oh, you can’t tell how ten ible ! 

“ They sha’n’t get you, miss. There now ! I’ll 
lock this door — see, it’s strong — and Pat shall bide 
from his work and read his book in the next room.. 
The broad-shouldered boy that he is, half a dozen 
couldn’t fright him.” 

So with much soothing, and after the “ broad 
shouldered boy” had presented himself at the door, 
and with his humble respects had prayed her not to 
be afraid, Lilly let Ann go for Hannah, and while 
she was gone slumbered quietly, forgetting all her 
fears. 

At evening Hannah was ready to come, but not 
empty-handed. She considered that Ann was a poor 
girl, just at housekeeping, and so she took from a 
trunk of choice stores, left her by Mrs. Schuyler, 
linen sheets, ruffled pillow-cases, and damask towels. 
At a druggist’s she spent such a sum as she would 
never have laid out for herself on brushes, perfumery, 
and toilette soaps. And with these things to show 
her penitence for past hardness, Hannah appeared at 
Ann Mora’s, and was soon bending over her “ dear 
miss,” weeping and caressing her. 

Pat was sent back to Hannah’s house under < over 


PRIEST AND NUN 


421 


of darkness, to bring a bundle she had left where he 
could find it. 

“ It is the mistress’ clothes as she left me, and far 
too good for me to put on,” explained Hannah to 
Ann, “ and there I’ve had them laid up in lavender, 
and there they are all ready for miss.” 

She then inquired with particularity into the supper 
that had been provided for the invalid. Ann meekly 
submitted the bill of fare ; and the two young women 
amicably divided their loving cares for their idol. 

That night Lilly slept sweetly. Hannah napped 
in a rocking-chair near her. Pat resigned his bed in 
the outer room to Ann, and himself lay on the floor, 
which he declared he was quite ready to do for a 
hundred years, if it would in any way benefit Miss 
Lilly. 

Lilly manifested the most extreme dread of having 
her whereabouts made known to anybody, lest thereby 
she might be again delivered to the convent. She 
was unable to lift her head from her pillow, but lay 
in calm content, waited upon with the utmost tender- 
ness bv Hannah. She would not have a physician, 
but was willing to take any remedy Hannah sug- 
gested. The faithful maid was sure no power on 
earth could save the young patient; yet she felt 
guilty about this neglect of medical aid. Lilly was 
very determined, however, and her word was Han- 

36 


422 


PRIEST AND NUN 


nail’s law. Her fits of terror were pitiful, and re- 
turned at every mention of bringing any one to see 
her. 

Hannah had cherished her stricken charge thus for 
a week, contributing her own share to the family 
expenses, and aiding Ann with her sewing, when one 
morning she went to the market to get a fowl for 
making broth. 

“ A fresh young spring chicken fit for a sick body,” 
she said. A black-eyed, slender, sallow - handed 
woman, with linen apron and straw bonnet, a serving- 
woman-looking person, stood near her, and turning 
about said, “An invalid, eh?” 

Now Hannah was garrulous, alas like many an 
other woman, and she replied with a sigh, “Yes, 
consumption, dying with it too, the sweetest young 
lady—” 

“ I’m a gentleman’s cook,” explained the stranger, 
to inspire confidence. “ I do my own marketing. I 
give my master my best work, and I want the best to 
do with. Ah, consumption you say?” 

“Yes, consumption, like her mother before her,” 
said foolish Hannah. 

“ If you please,” cried some one, pulling Hannah’s 
sleeve, “ would you come tell me which of these fish 
to buy?” And, as obliging Hannah turned away 
with her to examine the scaly victims of hook and 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


123 


net, she said, “Oh, go home — keep silent, do — that 
is a Jesuit spy — Annette — she lived at Mrs. Judge 
Schuyler’s once.” 

The ground seemed to reel under Hannahs feet. 
Had she betrayed Miss Lilly ! “ Don’t look so,” 

said the Bible-woman. “ These fish, sir, please — go 
back and don’t tell her where you live — don’t go 
straight home — she’ll follow you, and I’ll follow her.” 

And so it was. But Hannah went to her own 
home, and, when her spy was gone, hastened by 
crooked ways to Ann Mora’s. Not far from there 
she met the Bible-woman. 

“ I looked from my window a week ago,” she said, 
“ and saw a person tying an apron on a very feeble 
young woman, and helping her along to some place 
in this neighborhood.” 

“ Oh, it’s all done !” groaned Hannah, wringing 
her hands. 

“ It need not be. I’m sure the feeble young woman 
was some unhappy nun, and now, if she has any 
true, strong friends, you had better let them take care 
of her.” 

“As sure as I’m alive,” said Hannah to herself, 
“ Mr. Richard shall know of all this before night.” 

She entered Ann’s rooms. Ann stood by Lilly’s 
bed. Hannah heard the invalid’s sweet, childlike 
voice, as she said, “ I came here to die, Ann, and it 


424 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


won’t be long now. You are very good to me, Ann. 
Ann, tell me that verse.” 

“ What verse, miss ?” asked Ann. 

“ A verse you told me long ago.” 

“ A verse ?” said Ann, doubtfully, '* what could it 
be ? Oh yes, now I know, to be sure ! There is but 
one chief verse in all the world to me : ‘ The blood 
of Jesus Christ his Son, cleanseth us from all sin.’ 
Oh, Miss Lilly, what a power of good it does to take 
that verse into one’s heart ! It’s all you need. The 
Bible says those ‘ who sometime were afar off are 
made nigh by the blood of Christ.’ It is only to let 
Jesus wash out all he finds amiss in us in his own 
blood, and set us before the Father clean once for all.” 

Lilly looked very calm and peaceful. Hannah 
knelt down and took her hands. “ Miss, dear, don’t 
deny me ; I’m, going for your cousin, Mr. Richard. 
He’s strong to take care of you, miss, and he knows 
the law and can do more for you than we know to.” 

“ Well, go, Hannah,” said Lilly, absently. “ Ann, 
do you think I can get near to Jesus, and be washed 
in his blood ?” 

“ Yes, sure, miss, only put out of your mind the 
notion of those interfering saints, and say to him, 
6 Lord here am I.’ ” 

Fear gave speed to Hannah. She thought that 
she had betrayed her young lady into the hands of 


PRIEST AND NUN 


425 


her enemies, and imagined that already they were 
carrying her off by force to the convent. She stopped 
at the warehouse where Pat was busy, and bade him 
u hurry home to protect that dear young lamb, wink 
she went to call them as had a right to do it.” 

Pat dashed off, hardly waiting to snatch his cap. 

With many sighs and much self-condemnation did 
Hannah tell her tale to Mr. Richard. “To think,” 
she said, “of that sweet young lady, born to all 
luxury, now hiding like a thief, in a servant-woman’s 
house, and all along of them dreadful nuns, sir ! Not 
but what the house is clean and the air good, and 
I’ve done my endeavor to get her what was right for 
her station ; but oh, Mr. Richard, what sort of treat- 
ment is a bare floor and a pine bedstead for a young 
lady like Miss Lilly, sir?” 

To call a skillful physician, a friend of his own, to 
take a carriage and hurry said physician into it, with 
Hannah, and to dash off in the direction of Pat 
Mora’s, was short work for Richard Kemp. 

Ann and her brother, with anxious faces, were 
keeping guard in the outer room. They brightened 
considerably when they saw Richard and his 
coadjutors. 

“Is Miss Lilly awake?” asked Ilannaln 

“ That she is, and lying as peaceful as a dove, like 

as she’d never want anything more in this world.” 

36 * 


126 


PRIEST ANI) NUN 


Hannah acted as avant courier , and then ushered 
in Richard. 

Lilly raised her eyes with a smile, and too feeble 
to speak much, or even extend her hand, said, softly, 
“ Rick.” 

How the old name touched him ! His eyes filled. 

‘ My mother,” said Lilly, softly. 

“ She left you her love and blessing,” said Rich- 
ard. “Do not fear anything, Lilly; I can take care 
of you. You shall go to your own home, to your 
mother’s room, Lilly, and Grace shall watch over 
you. I have brought a doctor here for you, Lilly. 
You must get well, now you are safe.” 

Perhaps his strong, fearless presence encouraged 
Lilly ; she did not appear frightened, and the doctor 
came in. After a short visit he retired to the outer 
room. 

“ Doctor,” said Richard, “ my cousin must not stay 
here another hour. The house I live in is her 
property, and she must be taken there at once.” 

“She would not reach there alive,” said the doctor. 
“ She has but a few hours to live, and any exertion 
would rob her of those. Just make her comfortable 
here. She is very nicely cared for I see already. I 
might leave her some stimulant, but I doubt if she 
could swallow it ; you have no idea how low she is.” 

Richard was shocked “ If you have anything 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


427 


that will lend her a little strength let her have it,” 
he said. “ There is one subject on which I must 
6peak tc her. The poor child has been beguiled in 
the convent so long, that she very likely knows 
nothing of the way of salvation.” 

The doctor sat down to write a prescription. “ Let 
her be quiet,” he said, “don’t bring any new faces 
about her, nor have more than two in the room at 
once. A little excitement would be fatal.” 

After the doctor was gone Richard said, “ Hannah, 
I shall stay here most of the time while Miss Lilly 
lives. I wish you to take the carriage we came in 
and go bring from my house whatever will add to 
your young lady’s comfort, and bring her some flow- 
ers from the green-house, — she always loved flowers.” 

He then asked Ann and Pat to move their stove 
and kitchen furniture into a vacant room across the 
hall for which he would pay, that no noise or heat 
might disturb the invalid. “As for you, Pat,” he 
said, “ you stay here and watch that street-door. I’ll 
see that you lose neither place nor wages.” 

Hannah having helped herself liberally at “Mr. 
Richard’s,” Lilly had now in her room many of the 
luxuries of her home. She smiled at the dainty bou- 
quets in their Parian vases ; but ice-pitcher, toilette 
sets, silver server and fine china, did not appear to 
be no deed. 


428 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ There is your mother’s Bible, Miss Lilly/’ said 
Hannah. 

Tears came into Lilly’s eyes. 

“ I’ll read you some of the passages she marked/ 
said Richard. 

Shortly after noon Pat called Richard in haste. 
“ There’s the convent-carriage at the door/’ he said, 
“and Father Douay and two of the Saints in it.” 

“ Go into the hall/’ said Richard. “ I’ll lock the 
door. Never mention me; but firmly and quietly 
refuse them entrance, and suggest that nothing but 
the law, and a writ of habeas corpus shall make you 
surrender.” 

“ That I will/ sir,” said the sturdy youth, relishing 
his task. 

“In the name of the Holy Church,” said Father 
Douay, to the “ broad-shouldered boy” he found 
leaning against the outer room door, “open this door, 
and give into our hands our escaped Sister, Mary 
Anna.” 

“Your Reverence,” said Pat, “it’s the name of the 
law of the land, and not of the Holy Church, that 
opens this same door.” 

“ The everlasting curses of the true Church shall 
destroy your soul,” said Father Douay, in a voice 
that caused Saints Clement and Cecelia to tremble, 
“ if you refuse obedience.” 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


429 


“Curses like chickens get home to roost,” said Pat. 

“ If you refuse, your door shall be broken open,” 
said his Reverence. 

“ Then ye’ll have to try your strength agin me at 
a wrastle,” said Pat ; “ and I’ll have the law of ye 
atop of that. My house is as good to me as another 
man’s is to him.” 

“ I shall soon raise force enough to bring you 
down,” cried Father Douay. 

“ Not in this neighborhood,” said Pat, “ wasn’t I 
out of conceit with the Holy Church when I came 
here ? This is a Protestant neighborhood, your Re- 
verence, and I’m not the ijit [idiot] that woull live 
where me roof would be burnt over me heretic head, 
or me tea would be seasoned with arsenic.” 

“At least,” said Father Douay, trying another plan, 
“ let these holy Sisters go in to converse with that 
unfortunate young woman.” 

“ It was a poor time for the doves when they took 
the hawk into the cote to instruct ’em,” replied Pat, 
smiling “ Your honor has an honest man’s chance. 
Get a haby eorpy [habeas corpus] and I’ll surrender.” 

After some further parley, the intruders returned 
to the convent carriage, an affair which, with its black 
curtains shut close down, looked like an odd-fashioned 
hearse, and were driven away. Before dark a writ 
>rdering Patrick Mora to produce the body of Sister 


430 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mary Anna at court, at eleven o’clock next day, wa. 
served upon the sturdy Celt. 

“ I take my orders from you, Mr. Richard,” said 
Pat, exhibiting to him the writ. 

“ Pll give them to you in the morning,” said Rich- 
ard. While these waves of tumult and trouble were 
beating around her, Lilly lay unconscious of all, a 
deep calm settling over her, her soul lifted above all 
cares of earth. 

“Lilly,” said Richard, “the way of salvation is 
plain and simple, but it has been hidden from you by 
a hundred forms and human traditions.” 

“Those have all been cleared away, Rick, like 
clouds from before the sun. They are gone; and 
now I see only the cross of Christ, — Jesus dying for 
me, — and willing for me to come to him.” 

This was said in whispers with many a pause. 

“And, Lilly, do you trust in none other?” 

“ In none other, Rick.” 

“Nor in your blameless .life, nor in good works.” 

“I have none — a sinner, I need a Saviour.” 

“And who is he ?” 

“Jesus, the Son of God.” 

Hannah came to administer a cordial, and then felt 
her hand and her pulse. 

“ Only a little longer, Hannah,” whispered Lilly, 
and Hannah wept. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


431 


The next morning Richard gave Pat his instruc- 
tions. “Go to court and respond to the judge that 
you are not a principal in the affair ; that the young 

lady is actually dying, as Doctor will certify ; 

that she is at your house by accident ; that I am pay- 
ing her board, and am responsible for her ; and to me 
must the writ be addressed. . That will give us one 
day more.” 

Pat obeyed orders ; the doctor and Mr. MacPher- 
son bore out his testimony, and a writ was served on 
Richard Kemp, ordering him to produce Sister Mary 
Anna at court at eleven o’clock next day, or show 
good and sufficient reason for the contrary. 

Pat guarded his doors like a young lion; and 
fllowly ebbed the last hours of Lilly Schuyler’s life. 


CHAPTER V. 


LILLY'S DEATH.— THE TWO PR IS OXERS. 

| VI R. RICHARD, if Miss Lilly lives past twelve 
41-1 o'clock, she'll live till the turn of the night, 
& j * when folks is most like to die. She'll slip off at 
twelve or four, sir." So said Hannah to Mr. Richard. 
1 1 was a remark she had made at many deathbeds. 
They were keeping watch alone together, as they had 
done over Mrs. Schuyler. 

u Mr. Richard, do you believe in guardian angels, 
sir?" asked Hannah, presently. 

Richard did not reply. He was watching his cousin 
intently. Her breath was so feeble it scarce seemed 
as if she breathed at all. 

“ Because, sir," pursued the maid, “ I do ; and 1 
feel as if her mother was Miss Lilly's guardian angel, 
all ready, sir, to carry her soul up to the right gate, 
sir. I can just be sure she is hovering over her 
child, as gracious an angel as ever was, sir. Ah, Mr. 
Richard, won't that be a happy meeting! Haven't 
I heard prayers on prayers from my lady for that 
blessed girl, and don't I see them answered ? Never 

432 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


433 


tell me the Lord ain’t an Answerer of prayer. I 
know he is.” 

Lilly’s lips parted in her sleep to a softly -uttered 
word, “ Mother.” 

“ I told you so,” said Hannah. 

Later she opened her eyes with an effort to breathe. 
Richard lifted up her head and pillow on his strong 
arm. Hannah brought a cordial. 

“ Don’t trouble her with it,” said Richard. 

“Rick!” said Lilly, clearly, “the blood of Jesus 
Christ his Son — ” 

“ Is that your trust, Lilly ?” 

“All my trust, Rick.” Her head drooped. 

“ Your young lady has gone, Hannah,” said Rich- 
ard, restoring the pillow to its place. Then, all the 
sweet child-life and the poisoned girlhood of his 
cousin rose up before him, and Richard Kemp went 
out and wept. 

While Ann went in to assist Hannah, Richard 
called Pat, and the two departed together. They 
proceeded to Father Murphy’s. Unseasonable as was 
the hour (now about five o’clock in the morning), 
they requested admittance on business, were taken to 
the parlor, and presently the holy Father came down 
in dressing-gown and slippers. 

“You know who I am,” said Richard, savagely, 
“and you know I have been ordered to produce in 
37 2 C 


434 


PRIEST AND NUN 


court my cousin, Lilly Schuyler. She is lying dead, 
God having freed her an hour ago from a life she 
found too hard. I have witnesses ready, and shall, 
if it is your pleasure, show the court how you de- 
ceived your ward, and shortened her days in the 
miseries of that prison, the Convent of the Immacu- 
late Heart of Mary. Sir, I lay her death at your 
door !” And Richard struck his fist on the table till 
it shook and rattled under the blow. 

“ Of course if the erring and unhappy young 
woman is really dead, it is not necessary for us to say 
anything more about it,” replied Father Murphy. 

Richard went home to leave some directions with 
Grace. At the proper time he went to court and sat 
two hours, but none of the convent party were on 
hand. The case was pretty generally known by this 
time, and many glances of sympathy were directed to 
him as he sat with his hat crowded down over his 
eyes, in sad meditation. Pat was at home guarding 
his house. When Richard returned there at one 
o’clock, all was in order, according to the directions 
he had given. Hannah had gone to the undertaker’s, 
and all matters had been quietly hastened. Pat and 
Ann were in the kitchen. Hannah, in the mourning 
she had worn for Mrs. Schuyler, sat reading her 
Bible in the outer room. The most perfect stillness 
reigned, and the inner door was shut. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


435 


“ Will you please see Miss Lilly, sir?” said Han- 
nah. Richard entered the room. It was spotlessly 
’ neat, with fresh curtains, bedspread, and stand-covers 
of snowy whiteness. The coffin-lid with it3 silvei 
plate was laid on the bed. Two carpenters’ tressels 
had been set in the centre of the room, and covered 
with a linen sheet, which fell in ample folds to the 
floor. On these stood the coffin. Richard stepped 
forward noiselessly, and stood, with folded arms, 
gazing into that narrow resting-place. 

Lilly was worthy of her name — indeed a lily, 
broken in the midst of its fragrance and beauty. 
Her hair had been cut in the convent, but Hannah, 
loving the old-time task, had curled it childishly 
about the still face. No more the red cross glared 
upon her bosom, but over the white merino of her 
shroud her fair hands were clasped prayerfully, and 
filled with flowers. About her head, in her hands, 
over her breast and still form, even to the feet, had 
Hannah scattered the treasures of the florist — white 
violets, lilies, camellias, cape jasmine, wax-like rose- 
buds and hyacinths, snowdrops, and all kindred white 
and perfumed blossoms — flowers with fragrant souls 
were they, which souls they were breathing out over 
the early dead. 

“ Asleep in Jesus,” said Richard; for there was 
smiling peace on the flower-encircled face. 


436 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ If you please, Mr. Richard,” said Hannah* 
“ here’s the undertaker and his men and the hearse, # 
sir” — with a sob — “ obeying your orders, and the 
carriages too.” 

Richard motioned without speaking, and stood 
aside. The undertaker’s men lifted the coffin-lid 
from the bed. 

“ If you please, Mr. Richard, at your house won’t 
you have it off again for Miss Grace as loved her,, 
and Miss Agnes, and for the old servants ?” 

“ If they wish it,” said Richard. 

Hannah and Ann bent over the foot of the coffin, 
their tears falling on the flowers, an unaccustomed 
dew. There was no one nearer of kin than cousin, 
to press a kiss on that cold face. She was the last of 
a house in which Rome had made ruthless havoc. 

They fastened down the coffin-lid, and Lilly was 
hidden out of sight. There was a hearse at the door, 
a carriage behind it for Richard, another for Hannah 
and Ann. This small procession crept slowly through 
the streets, and at last stopped before the Schuylei 
mansion. The door was open wide, the shutters 
already bowed and wearing the badge of death. Mr. 
Kemp, Mr. MacPherson, the doctor, and three other 
gentlemen stood on the walk with crape on hats and 
arms. They lifted the coffin from the hearse and 
carried it in. It was thus that the heiress of the 


PRIEST AND NUN 


437 


house came home. She had entered into her heritage 
— eternal rest. 

Then came the simple funeral service, and then the 
small train of carriages, filled with friends who had 
been hastily gathered, bore Lilly Schuyler to the 
family vault, and a place by her mother’s side. 
Richard’s friends had advised quiet and short delay 
under the singular and painful circumstances of this 
case. 

That this escape, this death, this burial made no 
small stir at the convent, who will doubt it? Saint 
Clement, her situation as cook resigned, was at the 
House Without a Name brooding over her defeat. 
She had taken to herself great credit for the manner 
in which she had discovered Lilly’s hiding-place. 
Baffled at finding Hannah’s house closed, and that 
Hannah had been absent from it a week, she had 
fixed her suspicions on Mr. Richard’s residence. At 
fault again, with an unerring instinct like a blood- 
hound on the scent, she had tracked her quarry 
straight to Ann Mora’s humble room. But after all 
she w T as foiled ! She had not carried her prisoner in 
triumph to her cell. Sister Saint Clement thought 
there were a great many disappointments in life. A 
good while ago she had wanted to go on a mission to 
Europe, but Lorette had been sent in her place, on 
the poor plea that she spoke better French! And 
37 * 


438 


PRIEST AND NUN 


here was Mother Ignatia, into whose sandals she was 
all ready to step, who was a living skeleton, con- 
sumed daily by all manner of mental horrors, and 
yet likely to live to the age of Methusaleh, and see 
Saint Clement herself safely laid in her coffin. It 
was a cruel thing to be remanded every now and then 
to the House Without a Name, and put at all sorts 
of rigors, and set on a level with Saint Sophia, and 
Saint Magdalena, or even with the cooking Sisters in 
the kitchen. How very humiliating to be considered 
no better than Sister Maria, who had not a soul or 
capacity above nursing children, and bringing heretic 
babies to her priest to be baptized ! There was no 
telling how cutting it was to hear how useful was 
Mother Ignatia, and how valuable to the Church, 
and how much worshipful obedience was due to her. 

Saint Clement had one safety-valve for all the furies 
roused within her by these trials ; — and that was a 
prisoner shut up in the fourth story. “ I like to take 
care of prisoners,” said she, between her set teeth* 
Truly she did ; and she ruled this prisoner most un- 
mercifully. She took her small and poor allowances 
of food; hung up in her room horrid pictures of 
fictitious saints and martyrs ; and, if she heard 
through the thin wall or ill-hung door, the clear, 
strong voice of her prisoner, she rushed in, shook 
hei fiercely, or even treated her to a mild sper^^r* 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


439 


of garrote with her handkerchief. “ I’ll have the 
heresy out of her yet,” said she to herself. 

It was quite wonderful how this prisoner, a young 
girl, sustained this treatment. She kept her elastic 
health and spirits, like some strong plant that thrives 
on being crushed and twisted, and rudely handled. 
She was of mixed blood, sprung of two races, one of 
which has never learned to yield a point, and the other 
knows how^ to endure through ages of oppression, strong 
in the hope of good to come. She was Scotch and 
Italian. She was Estelle . We know how long she 
had been a prisoner ; and here she was in the very 
heart of the city, caged in an attic of that nameless 
House, while her father sought her from place to place 
with a love that would not grow weary or faint-hearted. 

It is useless to tell how Estelle was treated to 
vigils, fastings, prayers and exhortations, how all that 
Rome could do to break her spirit had been ineffec- 
tually done. She kept her lips closed in chapel and 
confessional. The few books in the case in the sacristy 
were untouched by her. Her crafty Italian vein found 
outlet in deceiving sometimes even these vigilant 
jailers, and getting a surreptitious meal or rest or 
jibe, merely to amuse herself by the getting of it. 
She fed her life on hopes set purposely a long way 
off, that she might not grow heartsick too soon. 

When Estelle found herself denied to her own 


440 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


father, when the bond that united her to her brother 
Martin was by the Abbess Hobart rejected, her whole 
soul burned with hatred to a creed to which she had 
in outward act subscribed, while her heart was not 
with it. Above all things, Estelle now hated Rome, 
the Church which had robbed her of liberty and rela- 
tives. Mother Robart and the reverend Fathers had 
endeavored to make their proceedings plausible to 
Estelle, and to win her interest and affection for a 
convent life. They told her that, if she took and 
cherished holy vows, she would be one day a Supe- 
rior — the glittering bait held out before many ambi- 
tious young spirits — should visit Europe on special 
missions, and go in high favor to Italy, the land she 
loved. Nothing could persuade Estelle. She had 
seen nothing of religion but what she had seen in 
Rome, and that she hated with a perfect hatred. If 
we could only say that it was faith in God, love for 
religion pure and undefiled, that sustained this girl 
under her persecutions; if we could set her before you 
as a fair young martyr for the truth, gladly would it 
be done. But Estelle was strong in a prejudice rather 
than a principle. She was upheld by pride instead 
of faith. She was not a lover of God. Yet, God 
was good to her, and, even in this House Without a 
Name, he gave her a friend. This one light in Es- 
telle’s darkness illustrates the truth that people are 


PRIEST AND NUN 


441 


rai ely, if ever, as miserable as they might be. There 
is ever below the “ deepest depth ” of misery, a 
“ deeper depth” that might be tried. On this side 
eternity the most wretched has ever some one con- 
solation. 

And who was Estelle’s friend in this prison ? The 
Italian nun, Magdalena. She was not enough her 
friend to free her ; she dared not do that ; but she 
was enough her friend to secretly supply her witli 
food, with materials for fancy-work, with pencil and 
paper; for these things Ignatia denied Estelle, that 
by utter loneliness and tedium, she might soone) 
break her spirit. There were hours when Magda 
lena could steal into that narrow upper chamber to 
talk to Estelle; and her talk was never directed to 
efforts for her conversion ; it was all of the fair native 
land for which this nun was homesick. 

a I love you,” Magdalena would say to Estelle, 
u for you came from Italy. You have blood in youe 
veins like mine. You have touched the hands of my 
country-people. You can remember our vineyards, 
our little homes, our dress, our songs. You hare 
seen the flowers and loved the skies that I have seen 
and loved. You have seen Florence, and Venice 
and the Bay of Naples. There are those in Italy 
that loved me once, but now they have forgotten the 
poor girl who was made a Sister and sent far away 


442 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


from her lovely land. Yes, I love you. You can 
speak to me in my own tongue, and can tell me the 
songs you heard them sing in Italy ; and you think 
the land shall be free some day ; ah, so my father 
said.” 

Besides such prattle as this, Magdalena would tell 
Estelle the small news of the house — when Maria 
came and went, how much w T ork was done, what 
patients came for Mother Ignatia’s doctoring, and 
what new privations Mother Ignatia imposed upon 
herself. Thus Estelle had something to think about, 
and did not feel utterly detached from the outer 
world. She was sure she would get free one day. 

Mother Ignatia disliked Estelle. 

By this time Adelaide had grown tired of the con- 
vent, and wanted to go home. Mrs. Kemp repre- 
sented this matter to her husband. “ Adelaide had 
married very poorly to be sure, but she was a widow 
now, young enough to retrieve the past; she had 
bettei come home and let all things be as they had 
once been.” 

i Yes,” Mr. Kemp said; but added, that if he 
could pul up with his wife’s daughter, his w r ife could 
certainly return the favor in kind. People were 
talking because Grace could not live at home. They 
had better gather up the scattered fragments of the 
household, and put them together as w T ell as they 


PRIEST AND NTJN. 


443 


could. If Adelaide came home and Mr. Kemp made 
no reflections on the past, so Grace must come home 
and Mrs. Kemp must cease to hector her about 
religion. 

Therefore Adelaide came from the convent, and 
Grace crossed the street from Richard’s, and Lucy 
was restored to her former place. But the tie that 
had bound the step-sisters was broken. They did 
not longer share one room, and had very little in 
common. 

Mr. Kemp was doing his best to make his family 
comfortable. He had consented to go to Saratoga 
for the summer, and had not denied new carpets and 
rosewood furniture for the newly-occupied bed-rooms. 
He had even agreed to a proposition for exchanging 
the family carriage for a handsomer one. How 
astonishing, then, that a priest could lead the wife 
and step-daughter to plot together to deceive and 
wound him in the cruelest manner. Yet so it was. 

Father Murphy told Mrs. Kemp, that he had 
waited long enough for Grace to return peaceably to 
the Romish fold, and now she must be forced to come. 
Adelaide was not a good Catholic, but she was not a 
Protestant, and while she gloried in infid-elity during 
sunshine, as soon as the storms of life broke over her 
she would run cowardly back to the Holy Church. 
But Grace was a positive trophy to Protestantism, 


PRIEST AND NUN 


414 


and such she must not remain. Father Murphy had 
no doubt that a few weeks of judicious management, 
away from Richard, Agnes and other Protestant 
friends, would restore Grace to her former opinions. 
She might be induced to make solemn oath to be 
faithful to the Church for ever ; or she might be made 
to take the veil, and so be saved from heresy. To 
aid him in this precious plan he won Mrs. Kemp and 
Adelaide — Mrs. Kemp because she was afraid to dis- 
obey her priest — Adelaide because she was envious 
of Grace, piqued at her step-father, and fond of 
malice and mischief anyway. 

They managed it very nicely. Mrs. Kemp and kef 
husband went off one day with the carriage. Mrs. 
Kemp had planned the excursion, but so adroitly that 
Mr. Kemp supposed it had all proceeded from himself. 
Adelaide urged Grace to go out shopping, and volun- 
teered to hire a hack for the occasion. She insisted S' 
strongly that she had her own way, and, according t 
previous agreement with them, Michael Shinn fin 
nished the carriage and John Mora drove. 

They went about here and there. Adelaide bough 
both pictures and bonbons which demanded clc * 
attention. At last they stopped before a chill, sh 6- 
up, iron-fenced, dreary house, so like a good n ny 
others that Grace did not know she had ever >een 
there before. 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


445 


“ Come in here with me, Gracie,” rattled Adela ide, 
u Mrs. Barry says here is the best mantuamaker. 
She works for absolutely nothing, and such a fit! 
Put your veil down, do, this wind would tan one to 
an Indian. Hold up your dress, Grade, the walk is 
so dirty !” The door was opened by a young woman 
in a gay pink calico, and in the hall a red carpet had 
been put down for the nonce. Grace therefore sus- 
pected nothing, and they went into a side room. 
Adelaide mumbled something about “ seeing madame,” 
and ran through an opposite door. 

Grace was alone — she looked about — how stupid 
she had been ! This was verily the parlor of Mother 
Ignatia’s house. There was a footstool, a tidy, a 
worked table-cover, a bouquet and an ice-pitcher, — 
things set there to beguile her memory at the first 
glance; but they could be carried aw^ay in a minute 
with the red carpet in the hall and the maid’s pink 
dress; and surely it was Mother Ignatia’s House. 
She tried the doors, tried the windows, thought she 
heard the sound of wheels without, and felt she was 
a victim to Adelaide’s treachery. 

A chill of terror passed over her, then she grew 
hot with rage. It could not be possible that they 
should dare imprison her. Then she thought of the 
many queer things they had done, and she remem- 
bered Estelle, and her heart sank. 

38 


446 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Half an hour passed. The door opened very 
gently — it is astonishing how quiet everything in a 
convent is — and there stood Mother Ignatia. Grace 
looked at her angrily, and did not speak. She tried 
to think the reverend Mother the most detestable- 
looking person she had ever seen ; but, for all that, 
pity stirred in her heart at the sight of her wan, 
pinched features and anguished eyes. “How in the 
world had this Superior existed until the present 
time?” This question thrust itself so boldly upon 
Grace that it almost drove off those other questions, 
how and why she herself got here, and when should 
she get away ? 

“My dear daughter, how rejoiced I am to see 
you /” said Ignatia. 

“ And how surprised I am to see you /” replied 
Grace. 

“ I have been very unhappy about you, daughter.” 

“ If you had wanted to see me, you knew where I 
lived, or, if you could not come, you could have sent 
me a note, asking in an honorable way that I should 
visit you. I came here with my sister on some pre- 
text of hers, and now I find her gone, and myself 
locked in. I am in no mood to talk with you, 
Mother. Open your front door, and let me go 
home.” 

“Home, my daughter? There is a heavenly 


PRIEST AND NUN 


447 


home, on which in youthful folly you have turned 
your back. Dear child, you are in deadly peril, lest 
those gates of mercy are closed on you for ever. False 
teachers have beguiled your youth ; you are here to 
set your feet firmly in the true way. My daughter, 
I have grieved for you, and wept over you.” 

“ If I am wrong, you are not responsible for it,” 
said Grace. “ I am satisfied that I am right. I am 
of age to choose for myself, and if I choose wrong on 
my head be the wrong. You have no right to use 
force, and violence, and underhand means to bring 
me to your notions.” And Grace, frightened and 
excited, sat down and sobbed wildly. From this 
Mother Ignatia argued that Grace was of a weak 
nacure, and could be easily moved ; but she did not 
comprehend that in that weak nature dwelt . eternal 
strength, sent from above. 

As Grace sat, her face hidden in her hands, weep- 
ing bitterly, Mother Ignatia stood near her, and in a 
low' voice repeated several forms of prayer. At last 
Grace looked up. “ Mother Ignatia, are you not 
going to let me go home to my friends?” 

“ Your home, dear child, is the true Church. We 
are your friends.” 

“ But you have no right to keep me here — a person 
of my age — in a free land. Have you no respect for 
the law T ?” 


448 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“We recognize no law but obedience to the 
Church,” said the Superior. “To the Church we 
are for ever children, and never too old to obey or be 
coerced to obedience. I do not act for myself; I act 
as the Church bids me.” 

“ And what has the Church done for you that you 
should be so submissive to her ?” demanded Grace. 

“I have been a wayward, stubborn, rebellious 
child,” said the Superior, sadly. “The Church has 
been better to me than I deserve. I have merited 
nothing at her hands.” 

“ And because the Church has made you miserable, 
you want to make me miserable. You are a cruel, 
wicked woman. You can let me go home, you know 
you can. What have I ever done to you, Mother 
Ignatia, that you should hate me ?” 

The Superior had sat down by Grace, and was 
resting her head on her hand, with her arm supported 
on the back of Grace’s chair. She looked sadly at 
the young girl, and tried to clasp her hand. Grace 
jerked it away. “ My child, I love you.” 

“ It is a poor kind of love that persecutes, and is 
unjust and breaks one’s heart,” asseverated Grace. 

“ Mine is a poor love ; alas, it is poor to mortals 
and to Heaven ! My love has been the curse of hose 
I spent it on. I thought that it was dead untL you 
came to me, so fair, so young, so obedient *o gentle 


PRIEST AND NUN 


449 


to me who for years had known no gentleness, so 
ready to believe well of my poor life. My child, I 
do love you.” 

“Let me go home then,” cried Grace. “Show 
your love in one good way. You are keeping me 
here to be scolded and persecuted by Father Murphy 
and Father Douay, and I hate them and am afraid 
of them.”* 

“They are true servants of the Church,” said 
Ignatia. “ There is nothing to fear from them, and 
it is wrong to hate them.” 

“ If you say you love me, and yet keep me here,” 
cried Grace, “ I shall never believe you again.” 

“ Perhaps it is better that you did not,” said the 
Superior, mournfully. “ None ever trusted me, but I 
made them wretched. My daughter, they tell me 
you have left the faith of your youth and become a 
heretic.” 

“ I have left the Church of Rome, and returned to 
that pure faith from which many years ago Rome 
departed,” retorted Grace. 

“ Poor deluded child ! they tell me you have ac- 
cepted one of the many wicked forms of that per- 
verted belief, Calvinism — the creed of a wicked, cruel, 
oigoted man, a true child of the Evil One.” 

“You are greatly mistaken, Mother,” said Grace. 
“ I have gone back to the pure faith of St. Augus- 

38 * 2D 


450 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


tine, or rather, to the holy doctrines of Jesus of 
Nazareth.” 

“ And where, my child, can you find them , but in 
the one true holy Church ? Let not evil men delude 
your tender mind. You were here with me once, a 
gentle, faithful, obedient child of the Church. I 
hoped that you would take holy orders, and come 
here to abide with me. On you I built great hopes 
for this House I have planted. Dear child, am I to 
be disappointed ?” 

“ I have seen my errors, and accepted a faith from 
which I shall never turn. You may tear me to 
pieces, Mother Ignatia, and you shall not get the Pro- 
testantism out of me. You might as well let me go." 

“Be satisfied, my daughter: that I cannot do.” 

“ Then I shall run away,” said Grace, angrily. 

Mother Ignatia gave a sad, incredulous smile. 
She knew her House was strong. “ Promise me 
one thing, my daughter, that you will here honestly 
and humbly examine the doctrines of our Church, 
and see how broad, how firm, how glorious they are. 
Rome invites your study. The True Church is not 
afraid to have her faith examined. In the sacristy 
you will find volumes in which the questions at issue 
are ably and clearly discussed. Examine them with 
an unprejudiced mind. It is all the True Church 
asks of you. Do that, and convinced of your clelu- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


451 


sions, you will joyfully retu^n toNyjOur 'proper! [faith. 
Foiv,thia are ydtf'here;;crr:T bw.-y/rm "^niibon *rbl 
“Then: I shall not \do ! rilfc/-'< : 9aid; < ;Gi7aee, j>e$isblyi 
“ You will make nothing ^byr.thi^fpruel^lshafaieful 
imprisonment ; alnd my friends/ slialh punish yoti. for 
it, too.” /rohyrjnS oib Iwuwrxg '\vn& v f r/rr;/ T “ 

“ I am lised jtonhar&hnefeS 1 and !unkdndnes^/fi said 
Ignatia, dropping hbr eydsv ! diji ihave/ bbrnfe) itdong; 
and none can be> harder upon; me than myself.” : ' 

Grace looked upon her ! gray' <haiES and < her- pallid 
face, and/ felt- a little remorse.; o Ignatia : quickly dis- 
cerned it. “ May I not ask - this- ; bne / little ! attention 
to my wishes,” she said,- softly— fl who have sinned 
so much, and suffered so much ?” , • 

‘-And why do <you ask dt ?i rjHbw! can it benefit 
ydu <v>r)u ol <yg bin 07 / ode. jdguoib oil?. 1 .1 A 

If I might; bellhej hi^mble toedns! of 'leading sc 
precious a - childobacfc; to; tlie; True. Ghiirch, It might 
be accepted ais soinedittfe atonement! for $ins black; 
andmany/M to mod orb jud bodowri :;m 

“ There; is; but* bhe atonement foihsin}” said Grace, 
“the blood of Christ.” ".ansoL m oft r on 

“ We must : do/ soniethirig /to < jwiri - the ; interference 
of that blood ; • s6 £ays th& in&llible 1 Church,” replied 
Ignatia." r> vino n ion *r:;; n v ./:;/» ' 

“ Christ shed His blood freely 'for' Aall /men said* 
Grace. f '■/:? r.’\y :-<>• lk..'.c i bm? 


452 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


" His blood is not such a trifle that we can gain it 
for nothing/’ answered Ignatia. "If it is worth 
having it is worth working for. If it were not so, 
would I have spent years striving for the cleansing ?’* 

"And how long have you striven ?” asked Grace. 

" Twelve years/’ groaned the Superior. 

"And if you were ever to obtain it in that way, dc 
you not think you might before this ?” 

"Child, you can never realize the number and 
blackness of my sins,” said Ignatia. 

" You remind me of the case of a woman who lived 
many years ago, when Jesus was on earth.” 

"A case like mine? Never, never,” said the nun, 
dreamily. 

"Yes; she had striven for help for twelve years. 
At last she thought she would go to Jesus. The 
apostles stood about him, but she did not pay any 
attention to them. Jesus was all she wanted, and she 
pressed up to him. She fell on her knees, reached 
out her hand, touched but the hem of his garment, 
and all her trouble was gone. Her help you see 
came directly from Jesus.” 

Ignatia looked up with a heavy sigh. "It is a 
pleasant story,” she said. " I wish her lot was mine. 
Come, child, you are not a prisoner, only a wanderer 
come home. Your cell is a small one within mine, 
and I shall have you with me always. Only set 


PRIEST AND NUN 


453 


your mind to learn the truth.” She took her hand 
and led her from the room. The red carpet was gone 
from the hall already. 

Grace struggled to draw her toward the front door. 
“ Oh, Mother Ignatia, let me go — let me go.” 

“ It is useless, child, it is useless. Do you ask me 
to add to my other crimes this, worst of all ?” She 
led Grace to the sacristy, and taking from the shelves 
several books, laid them down before her, reading 
their titles as she did so: — “ Protestantism Weighed 
and Found Wanting,” “ Protestantism and Infidel- 
ity,” “ Plain Talk to Protestants,” “ Evidences of 
Catholicity,” “ Principles of Church Authority,” 
“Burnett's Path.” We think it a great pity that 
she did not have “Protestantism a Failure,” to add 
to the precious list. It is such a clincher in the wa^ 
of argument. 

And now see Grace deprived by the nuns of her 
worldly attire, going about with Mother Ignatia from 
morning until night. 


• 4 ’ J '4 v \ .Vi h T \' y; : \ \ < t \ c ^ 

’“ l *»» "« m*l 

to.,™, h,,,, IT ,, I, i, wn „ t 

'VbsmUt Usd sdt iturr'i 
™’ h RrruV<fc fel g3IPJte ' 

PLOTTINGS.— THE 

y -aaofyg/J 81 ti f Wifb ,8891380 8- (5 •* 

I'B* course, iamongr/ thp; pthftr ^its,^ information 
'that 1 > poor ( /Magiblhnp, . topic. .to Estelle in her 
y r 1 Stolen hdurs $f f gossip, sh^ f Jier jfhat Grace 
wa^itothe house,; anthhpw anc).. wl}} r ( slip came there. 
The : voluble Italienne had) - pever , hgjrne^ p primary 
priiiciple of 'Jhsuitisiu^ oaipe^f, tp hto}.e| her .tongue. 

Sh e.g^ve -thfe inform&feiorp along <^ther indifferent, 
matters; '’hjavmgijiot the ^ligfytegjfyidea- t^f Estelle had 
e\4r* before hhard Es^lle, .wise girl, 

gaV6 no sign of ;Speeial .intefeg|]. permed to Es- 
telle that it would be so easy to escape from the con- 

. J r • TifOiTfu^' if: ; 

vent if one fwasi not! shut .up > dp .opp ^room ! , AJ1 her 
fear wafe th^t GrteeLwould g 1 §f ( %wa)j;^fo|-e j ^he fpund 
out about herself. She began to ^p^^fpre Magda- 
lena liow she would like to see this strange young 
woman — such a change, such an event — she was so 
tired, so lonesome — only to see her — only to speak 
five minutes, only one minute, dear Magdalena. And 
she argued her case in Italian to win more surely the 
heart of the nun. 


454 


PRIEST AND NUN 


455 


A meeting between Estelle and Grace was of all 
filings not to be desired, from a Murphy point of 
view. It might lead to the very worst results. And 
such a meeting would never have taken place, had 
not Saint Clement been called away to act as nurse to 
a rich man dying at a boarding-place, whom it was 
desirable to convert in his last hours. Annette was 
ready to go ; here was a case that suited her peculiar 
talents. She signalized her departure by putting her 
prisoner on short rations for the day, and Estelle was 
*n a state of semi-starvation when Magdalena in the 
evening privately conveyed to her two biscuits and 
c :me loaf sugar. Magdalena, being the housekeeping 
Sister, she could do this conveniently. When she 
had brought it, she leaned against the door and dis- 
coursed in her native tongue on the delights of sar- 
dines and maccaroni. 

“ What were you saying to the prisoner?” said 
sharp-eared Saint S^ytia, who had drifted to that 
part of the House, a self* constituted vigilance com- 
mittee. “ My prayers and the Blessed Hours,” re- 
plied the veracious Saint Magdalena. 

Grace had not dropped out of her ordinary home- 
life unnoticed. Richard was absent from the city— a 
fact which had caused Father Murphy to look on this 
as a fa vorable time for the execute u of his plans ; 
hut on the first night of her absence, ibout bed-time, 


456 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


Mr. Kemp suddenly noticed that his daughter was 
away. Mrs. Kemp lazily opined that she had gone 
to stay all night with some of her friends — with 
Agnes very likely. Of course, she was not then 
expected at breakfast, and no more was said until the 
six-o’clock dinner. Then Mrs. Kemp “ didn’t know — 
feared something was wrong. Grace had asked Ade- 
laide to go out shopping, and had suddenly left her 
before a dressmaker’s, and had not returned.” 

Adelaide began to whimper : “ She could not bear 
to walk and so had hired a hack. Merci ! no, she did 
not know what hack it was ; how should she ? would 
not know if she saw it again. Grace left her, and 
she was pretty sure she saw a Scotch-looking man 
getting into the hack. Grace had hinted this; but 
then Grace was such a dear girl, she had never sus- 
pected.” 

Now Mamma Kemp came to the rescue. Sire 
“ had seen several things she thought strange. There 
had been letters speaking of a trip to Scotland, and 
all such things. She had merely glanced at them ; 
but feeling it her duty to look at them again, they 
were gone. Mr. Kemp would hear soon enough ; 
letters always came in such cases.” And Mamma 
Kemp looked at Adelaide, and Adelaide grew red, 
and they both retired behind their handkerchiefs. 
This was good acting, and Mr. Kemp did not sus- 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


457 


pect them. They were quite perfect in the parts 
Father Murphy had assigned them. Presently, Mrs. 
Kemp “did not wish to be harsh, but most likely 
this was the reason Grace became a Prot-estant.” 

Mr. Kemp was at his wits’ end, and as was emi- 
nently proper his wife became his counselor. “ Such 
matters were so much better hushed up. They had 
better keep all quiet ; perhaps there would be some 
good explanation; anyway, she and Adelaide were 
willing to say that Grace was off on a visit, until 
they knew something for certain. Pie might quietly 
look at the list of passengers on departed ships, 
and might make some inquiries at the ticket-offices.” 

Mr. Kemp “ did not know what better to do than to 
take this advice. He was ignorant of the ways of 
young women; and, if Adelaide had acted in this 
manner, why might not Grace ? It was very hard 
and he wished Pick was home.” 

Adelaide took an early opportunity to call on the 
Anthons, and tell them Grace had gone from the city 
on a visit. She and Mrs. Kemp took all pains to 
keep up the illusion they had begun for Mr. Kemp. 
By the time Richard got home, Mr. Kemp thoroughly 
believed his wife’s view of Grace’s disappearance. 
Richard did not believe it. He took counsel with 
the Anthons, and concluded that Grace had been kid- 
napped. But that seemed a ridiculous idea, and they 

39 


458 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


had no shadow of foundation for it, save that thej 
believed her a pious and sensible girl who would no* 
run away from her family. Richard searched for hei 
as best he could, but his father was nervously anxious 
“ to have the affair kept quiet,” and the young man 
was bewildered by the tissue of falsehood that Mrs. 
Kemp and her daughter spread before him. 

Now Richard might have searched constantly, 
boldly and wisely, without once coming near Grace’s 
true prison. Who knew anything of that Nameless 
House ? A few poor Romanists went there for medi- 
cine and for doles of soup and bread, without know- 
ing what sort of place it was* Few, even, were the 
nuns who knew of this House. Its exterior was 
blank as an idiot’s face. John Mora knew it was 
u some sort of a holy place like.” Michael Shinn 
believed it a “little ’ospital.” Saint Cecelia had 
been there nowand then. It was a hidden snare — 
hidden all too well. Get any one in there, and 
Mother Church might defy everybody to get them 
out again. 

But there was one sleepless Eye that watched that 
House Without a Name by night and by day. To 
that watching care did Grace appeal. Believing her- 
self shut out from all human aid, she cried to God to 
bring her out of prisoji. While daily her faith was 
assailed, she cried that she might never deny the 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


459 


truth, .but that God would bring her trial quickly to 
an end. 

After a while Magdalena was prevailed on to take 
Grace secretly to Estelle’s room. 

“You wicked girl, ’ ; said Magdalena, “you never 
told me that you knew her !” 

“How could I tell you that I knew her before I 
saw her/’ said Estelle, releasing herself from Grace’s 
embrace. 

“ You deceive me,” said Magdalena, sulkily. Then 
Estelle overwhelmed her with Italian, and caresses, 
until she agreed to leave them alone together for a 
while. 

“ Grace,” said Estelle, “ you must contrive to get 
away, you have such a good chance.” 

“I have no chance at all,” said Grace. “You 
have no idea how it is.” 

“You will find a way,” said Estelle; “and then — 
oh, Grace, think how I have been treated — my 
brother— my father” — and Estelle wept. 

“ I’ll not go away without you,” said Grace. “ But 
you can get this Magdalena to let us both go— to gc 
with us. It is evident she will do anything for you.” 

“Almost anything but that,” said Estelle, crossly. 
“ She is a doll-baby and a coward. She is afraid to 
do that — afraid of her priest. She could not get up 
courage enough to do anything important.” 


460 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


“ But we could plan it all, and you could persuade 
her to do certain things which we had marked out.” 

“ I have planned it, fifty times over, but she takes 
fright at the least little hint of it — says this is a good- 
enough place — she wishes she had never come into 
it — but what would she do in the world ? If Mag- 
dalena is our only hope we might as well die in 
despair.” 

“God is our hope,” said Grace, earnestly. “He 
will hear our cries.” 

“ It might be,” said Estelle, turning the subject, 
“ that if we got all ready for a start, even to the door 
open, and gave poor Magdalena a pull, and said ( Come 
out, and we shall take you to the land of grapes and 
maccaroni/ she might get her liberty before she real- 
ized what a dreadful thing she was doing. I think 
Pd like to help the good simpleton that much.” 

“ As they have in a manner stolen me from my- 
self,” said Grace, “ I feel as if I should like to return 
the compliment by taking off one of their dupes.” 

“By that rule we ought to take off two at least,” 
said Estelle; and these two prisoners laughed, for 
they were young and hopeful, and not suffering any 
present pain. Thank God for the care-free hearts of 
youth ! 

The main object of this House Without a Name 
was to have it a perfectly secret place, unknown to 


PRIEST AND NUN 


461 


almost every one, where difficult cases might be 
quietly handled. Rome is not able yet to get the olden 
requisition restored in America , but she makes small 
and gradual approaches to it in prisons like this. The 
force of Sisters kept in this House was very small, 
because only thus could entire seclusion be secured. 
Mother Ignatia, Saint Magdalena the housekeeper, 
Saint Sophia the nurse and doctress, Saints Clement 
and Maria, who were so often abroad, and two Sisters 
in the kitchen, made up the present number. Of 
these, Saint Sophia visited the sick and a small school 
which was under their supervision, and all the time 
that could be spared from other duties was given to 
embroidering articles for sale; for this institution 
was not wealthy. 

Grace was required to spend her time in embroid- 
ering. She would not read the books in the sacristy ; 
and so she embroidered, and Mother Ignatia read 
them to her. 

“Oh, my dear daughter,” said the Superior, “if 
you would only read these invaluable books your- 
self!” 

“ I shall not read them here wffiere I am a pris- 
oner,” said Grace. “If I can go home, I promise 
you that I will read them there, every one.” 

“ But with what benefit, my daughter, when you 

would have your heretic books and friends to bewil- 
39 * 


462 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


der your young mind with false arguments and so« 
pliistries that might cheat the- wisest?” 

“Don’t you think yourself/’ said Grace, “that it is 
very cruel and wicked to keep me here in this way T 

“How much better/’ said Ignatia, “is the soul 
than the body ! Dear child, consider how I endure 
and toil, to destroy these fleshly; sins and inclinings, 
and to save my soul.” 

“ You will find, Mother,” replied Grace, “that yon 
have f spent' yotir money for that which is not bread, 
and your labor for that which satisfieth not.’ Tell 
me, Mother, do you love Jesus ?” 

Ignatia drew back as in horror. “Love!” she 
cried; “dare such a wretch as I offer my love to the 
Holy One ? It is not love but penitence that I must 
feel. When at last -my works are remembered, and 
all my groans and tears have washed away my 
iniquities, then; when I am clean, may I offer my 
heart’s devotion to the Son of God.” 

“There is just where you are wrong, Mother, 
believe me,” said Grace. “ We must love Jesus 
6 because he first loved us’ — love first, and that shall 
teach us to repent.” i i ^ i b. n ; 

“You cannot be right, my poor innocent child,” 
said Ignatia, stroking Grace’s soft hair; “for, if that 
were true, my priests would have told me of it 
Father Douay says I am not penitent enough. M> 


PRIEST AND .NUN. 


463 


child, the rack would be heaven to what mental 
agonies I suffer. Father Murphy says all is right , 
I am only nervous ; I must be content, be at rest, be 
at peace. Ah, child, how can I have rest or peace 
when ten thousand furies possess my soul . 1 ?” 

“Since your two spiritual .doctors differ, Mother,” 
said Grace, “ take the prescription of a third ; if you 
try which, your ; own heart shall aoon divine its 
efficacy.”. ' u u* " it -ai# - ' 

“ My own heart!” cried the Superior, “I would 
not trust that; it is full -of all wickedness.” 

Mother Ignatia was very kind to Grace. She read 
to her, exhorted i her!,: tried :to reason with her, and 
kept her ever] at her side. W ith Mother Ignatia 
Grace went many times in the twenty ^four hours to 
the chapel, and while there, unlike Naaman in the 
house of Rimmon, she would not bow. “ O stubborn 
knees that will not bend before the holy Lady and 
her blessed Son !” Ignatia would lament, holding 
Grace’s hand, and trying to * draw her down to the 
brick floor beside her. Then she would pour out 
many prayers for herself and; for this poor, unhappy, 
deluded girl. 

As may be supposed, this House, where sunshine 
never came, where vigils were multiplied, and fasts 
were a customary exercise, where the food was coarse 
and poor, and v T here disease was ever and anon 


464 


PRIEST AND NUN 


coming with its odors, was a tempting harvest-field 
ready for the mowing of the reaper, Death. The 
only wonder is that he delayed so long. Eut now, as 
the July heats scorched the city, on poisoned mias- 
matic breezes, and in ships from over the sea, the 
cholera ^me ; and here and there, like grasses under 
the mower’s scythe, its victims fell. First it visited 
the crowded homes of poverty, and it was while it 
delayed there, and the terror of the pestilence had 
scarcely begun, that Saint Sophia went to some suf- 
ferers in a foul, reeking den, and gave them first 
medicine and then baptism, and held the crucifix 
before their dying eyes, and murmured Pater JNosteis 
and Aye Marias in their deafened ears, and folded 
up their clammy, dead hands over little crosses, and 
so came home with the disease creeping through all 
her veins. Poor Saint Sophia told of the ravages of 
the pestilence, and fear spread through all the House. 
The two Sisters who especially presided over the 
cooking and kitchen were terribly alarmed. They 
were Germans and had lost friends by this sickness in 
“ Faderland,” and it was their chief dread. One was 
quite sure she felt the symptoms of the malady 
already. 

That was a night of trouble. The disease fastened 
relentlessly on Saint Sophia, and in the darkness of 
her little cell, lighted by one poor taper, the Sisters 


PRIEST AND NUN 


465 


and the Superior gathered to see her die. They ad- 
ministered what remedies they could, and sorely 
wanted a physician and a priest; but Clement and 
Maria were away, Magdalena had never been outside 
the front door of the House, the German Sisters were 
Ignorant of the city, were dull, little acquainted with 
English, and terrified almost out of their senses. One 
of the Germans knelt sobbing and praying in a corner 
of Sophia’s cell. The other wailed without the door. 
Death had never come to this House before, and now 
he surprised them armed with his wildest terrors. 
Magdalena and Mother Ignatia saw the struggle for 
life ended, and Saint Sophia lying helpless on her 
pallet; then spread a sheet over her, and locked the 
door of the cell. 

“ You, Magdalena, must go for the reverend 
Father,” said Mother Ignatia — “and for a doctor,” 
she added — for she felt already the grasp of the pes- 
tilence upon herself. 

Grace had held aloof from Saint Sophia’s cell. 
She felt that she was not there needed, and the scene 
was too fearful to look upon. But now that Mother 
Ignatia was seized, she applied herself to do what 
she could for her relief. Her mind was also divided 
between sympathy for the sufferer and a hope of her 
own escape. She thought of Estelle, and appealing 
to Magdalena that she would not want the young girl 


466 


PRIEST AND NUN 


to die of this plague alone, she besought her to bring 
her to the lower part of the house. 

Saint Ignatia signed assent, and, her features 
pinched and her hands already chilling, begged for 
a doctor and a priest. The terrors of death had 
indeed taken hold upon her. She was in an agony 
of pain and fright. Grace indeed desired the pres 
once of a physician; but felt that if Father Douay 
or Murphy came her hopes of release were gone. 
She urged Magdalena to allow her to go for help ; 
but the nun had just enough of reason and stupidity 
left, amid her terror, to keep the House locked anc 
her prisoners safe. 

The German Sisters were now nearly frantic. 
They believed the city was full of the plague and did 
not doubt that corpses were piled in every street. 
They had come to this House from a convent situated 
three miles out of the city on a breezy hill, and their 
one idea was to get there once more. They believed 
that to do so they must crowd their way through 
dead bodies ; but the love of life was strong in them, 
and their sole hope lay in getting to this remote and 
healthy convent. Magdalena told them they must 
go for a doctor and a priest, and tried to gather some 
directions for their guidance from the Superior’s 
quivering lips. The German Sisters consented to go 
together, and Magdalena let them depart. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


467 


“ If they get people here we are lost/’ whispered 
Grace to Estelle. 

“Don’t be afraid of them” replied Estelle, who 
from her foreign rambles could speak a little of many 
languages. “ They said to each other that the con- 
vent of Santa Clara lay due east of the city ; they 
could guide themselves by the sun and get there ; it 
would be time enough to send help then. And Santa 
Clara is full four miles from here.” 

“ We are as strong now as Magdalena,” said Grace ; 
for she and Estelle talked apart as the Sister with 
poultices, hot water, camphor, an$ brandy, toiled 
weeping over her Superior. “ Let us force the keys 
away from her, and run for it. You are less likely 
to get along than I. Go up stairs and get the clothes 
I wore here, and put them on. They hang on the 
wall of Annette’s room — Sister Clement, you know. 
Be quick, Estelle ! and bring some of the holy Sister’s 
trumpery for me.” 

It was a time of day when no one ever came 
near this Nameless House, the reverend Fathers 
making their appearance, if at all, in the latter 
part of the afternoon. Things looked hopeful for 
the young prisoners. Estelle sped up stairs, though 
she was weak from long imprisonment. Grace could 
not leave the Superior without some kind words. 
She aided Magdalena for a moment or two, and^ 


468 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


wiping the damps from the contracted forehead of tbt 
dying Superior, said, “ Mother, do you know me ?” 

Ignatia grasped her hand. 

“ Y ou are so ill, Mother.” Another pressure replied 

“And are you ready to die, Mother?” 

A fearful groan burst from the writhing figure. 

“ Mother,” cried Grace, “ now, at this last hour, 
cast yourself on Jesus. Offer one earnest prayer to 
him alone. Let all else go, and seize him. He is 
ready to save, able to save.” 

Magdalena ran up with holy water and a crucifix;, 
then brought an image of our Lady, and held it high 
before the blearing eyes. Ignatia turned her gaze to 
Grace. “ Mother, trust him . Trust the Saviour !” 

Ignatia’s eyes closed. Grace thought her in a 
stupor. 

Estelle at this moment ran in, wearing Grace’s 
clothes, with Annette’s habiliments in her arms. 
“Now or never!” she cried. Magdalena stared. 
Estelle dropped the garments and went up behind 
the nun, grasping her closely in her lithe arms. 
Grace jerked the keys from her side, and began to 
pull on the clothes that lay on the floor. 

“ Magdalena,” said Estelle, “ we are going to let. 
oursefv**. out, and be free. Keep still, Magdalena, 
you cannot prevent us.” But Magdalena gave a 
shriek of dismay. 


PRIEST AND NUN 


46S 


“ Going I” she cried, holding to the gins, “ and 
leave me alone, with a dead woman and with her 
dying ? The House is full of ghosts— I won’t stay — 
if you will go I go — I cannot stay alone with dead 
people and spectres !” 

“ Come on, then, with us,” said Estelle. “ But she 
will betray us, Grace, by her looks, if she goes in this 
dress, and we chance to meet nuns or priests. Let her 
have part of those clothes, and I will give her this 
blue veil for her head.” 

Estelle began hurriedly dressing the nun, quite 
relishing the idea of eloping with her, while the poor 
Sister had no thought of anything but to get away 
from dead bodies, and not be left to brave the cholera 
alone in a haunted house. 

“ Magdalena — Sister Magdalena, stay here,” cried 
Grace. “ We do noLwant you with us, and you will 
not leave your Superior to die alone. Shame on you, 
stay here !” 

“Let her come,” said Estelle. “Magdalena, in 
three months you shall eat sardines in Italy.” 

“ Magdalena, stay here and take care of your 
dying Mother !” cried Grace. 

“ If I stay here I shall die of cholera, and be mur- 
dered by ghosts,” shrieked Magdalena. 

“Let her come. What is the Superior to her? 
She is quite unconscious ; maybe she is dead ; let ua 

4G 


470 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


leave her alone,” said Estelle ; “ we have not one 
minute to lose.” 

The three turned, Grace reluctantly, when Mother 
Tgnatia opened her eyes, and gave a piercing scream. 

“I cannot leave her to die alone,” said Grace. 
“ Estelle, escape yourself. Take the little money that 
is in that tin box ; get off to the noisy parts of the 
city, and hire a hack to take you to Vane street, No. 
16 , which is Mr. MacPherson’s. Get a hack with a 
colored driver, or you may be in the hands of some 
Catholic who knows you. Tell Eick where I am, 
and that he must come to help me. If I get out 
alone I will be home before night.” 

She wrapped the thin shawl, which she had put 
on, about Magdalena, and with the caution, “Oh, 
Estelle, this is your last chance, be careful,” unlocked 
for them the front door, and saw them hasten away. 
Magdalena had made signs of staying with Grace; 
but Grace said, firmly, “ If you stay, I go.” So the 
nun ran away from ghosts and the cholera, and Grace 
remained in that gloomy prison, where one figure was 
already lying stark and still under the folds of the 
white sheet, and where Ignatia was groaning in the 
agonies of death uncheered by the hope of heaven. 

Grace knelt by Mother Ignatia administering what 
remedies she knew, praying with her, exhorting her 
to rest in this extreme hour on the Merciful One, to 


PRIEST AND NUN 


m 


know no name but his. Ignatia grasped her with a 
ela^p of terror and despair. Grace shivered and 
trembled on that sultry morning, as if in the chill of a 
winter’s day, She was in terror of infuriated priests 
coming there, and wondered if she could not bar 
them out at one door and escape by another ; but 
ah, the fences were high and their gates were locked. 
Every wheel on the street, every foot on the pave- 
ment, was as a death-knell to her. She feared that 
presently Estelle and Magdalena would be brought 
in captured. I hold her a heroine for staying as she 
did, and for nearly two hours her heroism sustained 
her. Then the death-rattle sounded in Ignatia’s 
throat, her limbs relaxed, her eyes wide open stared 
stonily. Grace spread a handkerchief over the ter- 
rible face, drew up the counterpane smoothly, put on 
the tawdry hat of servant-maid Annette, and fled as for 
her life. She saw a nun three squares off, and thought 
she saw also a priest. She was ready to drop on the 
pavement, but passed blindly alcng — growing warm 
enough now, but oh, so weak — east, two squares, south, 
three squares, looking for a street she knew. Here 
was James street. She brightened ; she had heard of 
that street. And now she came to a stone church, 
with three flights of retreating stone steps leading to 
doors that gave deep shelters. As she was passing 
this church, she heard her name called. To her 


472 


PRIEST AND NUN. 


amazement, there were Estelle and Magdalena ! They 
said they had got bewildered and frightened, and had 
hidden there, waiting for they knew not what. 

“ Keep to this side of the street, keep pace with 
me as I go on the other pavement, and do as I do ; 
come,” said Grace. 

In fifteen minutes she found a hack whose driver 
she believed she could trust, and putting her silly 
companions into it, stepped in herself, dropped the 
curtains, and said, “ Drive fast,” having first given 
Mr. MacPherson’s address; and then waited almost 
wild with anxiety, to reach the familiar house. She 
knew the old gentleman hated summer traveling, and 
would not shut his house up for the hot season. 

Now, on reaching 16 Yane street, the hack-driver 
saw a curious performance. One of "his three passen- 
gers flung some loose money on the sidewalk, and 
then they all rushed up the steps, and one tore 
wildly at the bell, another attacked the door-handle, 
while the third hung upon both ; and presently the 
door swung back and they all seemed precipitated 
into the cool depth of the hall. 

“ Them is three lunytics” said the hackman, 
“ lucky I got rid of ’em.” 

It seemed a house full of lunatics five minutes 
after, when Mrs. Anthon ran down stairs from her 
sewing-machine, Agnes from letter- writing in the 





« 



PRIEST AND NUN. 


473 


library, Mr. MacPherson from the darkened parlor, 
where he had been endeavoring to keep cool ; and 
when poor Mr. Wynford, who had been sick in his 
bed tw T o days, heard a voice whose tones were echo- 
ng in his sad heart for ever, and came staggering 
down stairs in his wrapper, to add to the general con- 
fusion by fainting in the hall. 

How Richard happened to come in just at that 
hour was a mystery that Agnes might have explained. 
He seized Grace in a grasp very uncomfortable con- 
sidering the heat. Mr. MacPherson was first about 
to turn Magdalena into the street for a “ wicked 
nun,” and then was ready to hide her in the china- 
closet for safe-keeping. 

“ Magdalena,” said Estelle that evening, “ you are 
a nun no longer.” 

“ Not a nun ?” said Magdalena, who was in a state 
of bewilderment* “ What am I then ?” 

“ A free woman,” cried Estelle, “ and you shall 
gather grapes in Italy.” 

“If this woman desires to return to her convent, 
we must not detain her,” said Mr. MacPherson. 

“ What was that about Italy ?” demanded Magda- 
lena. 

“ My father says if you want to go there, some 
friends of his will take you with them, they start next 
week, and you can go with them as maid.” 

40 * 


m 


PRIEST AND NUN 


“ I shall go to Italy, mia Italia !” cried Magdalena, 
in a rapture. 

Magdalena went to Italy. She was a useless body, 
but her friends were patient. She ate maccaroni and 
sardines, and gathered familiar fruits ; but she was 
lonely and bewildered by the noisy world, and, in 
less than a year knocked at the gate of a House of 
Franciscan Sisters in Naples, was admitted and came 
out no more. 

Estelle was with her father. He scarcely suffered 
her to go out of his sight, proposed many places where 
they might be safe , but ended by living at Mr. Mac- 
Pherson’s. He had proofs now such as would have 
overthrown the case made out by Madame Robart, 
but it came up in court no more. He was a broken 
man, and his friends desired only to lengthen out his 
life by quiet and tender care. In the shelter of a 
Christian home, the father and daughter learned the 
peace of God. 

Martin most likely is a Jesuit priest. When he 
grows old and wise in Rome, like others he will 
mock at the “ Fifteen Mysteries,” and jest over the 
(i Seven Sacraments,” * and find amusement in the 
credulity of the unlearned. 

Probably Sister Saint Clement has attained the 
end of her ambition, the rule of the House Without 
* See Le Pape et L’Evancple, par J. J. Maurette, cure de Serrea 


PRIEST AND NUN 


475 


a Name, but into that House may we enter no 
more ! 

The return of Grace revealed the deception prac- 
ticed by her step-mother and Adelaide. Mr. Kemp 
was both a grieved and an angry man. He rushed 
the delinquent feminines home from Saratoga, and 
bade his wife prepare for a separation, as he would 
by no means endure a woman who had robbed him 
of his child, and at the order of a priest so basely 
deceived him. Mrs. Kemp declared that Father 
Murphy had nothing to do with the affair ; and, 
indeed, they could prove nothing except against Ade- 
laide. In a separation from her husband Mrs. Kemp 
saw a disgrace for which her Church could offer no 
compensation ; and Adelaide was sure they could no 
longer have a carriage or a saloon parlor. So deep 
was their humility and professed penitence, that the 
threat of separation was never carried into execution, 
although the healing of the wounds caused by Romish 
priestcraft was never so thorough as to efface the bit- 
ter memory or to hide the unsightly scars. 

Of that household Grace never made one. Her 
brother's home was hers. 

See, dear Americans, what Rome can do for yoj 
and yours. Grant her but her own way for a little 
while, give her your children, give her the masses 
of the poor and unlettered, give her the freed- 


m 


PRIEST AND NUN 


men of the South, let the Roman Propaganda pour 
out six hundred thousand gold dollars each year, for 
the next decade, shut your eyes to bitter truths, by 
no means be " alarmed,” never be "rash,” be not 
" bigoted,” if you handle the matter at all handle it 
with gloves on, and what shall be the end? Rome 
tells us it is but a question of time — this matter of her 
political and ecclesiastical supremacy, in the United 
States — and when her time has come, when that 
"finger of decay” has touched the ballot-box, the 
trial by jury, the police system, public education, the 
liberty of the press, the freedom of the pulpit ; wheu 
the Empire cf the West is trampled in the filth of 
superstition under that Popery which Austria and 
Italy are sloughing off, as unworthy of them; think 
how a race of betrayed and ruined children of free- 
men, shall wail curses on the head of our infatuated 
age. Remember the warning of Lafayette, "If the 
liberties of America are subverted, it will be by 
Romish priests” — let us say, by Priests and Nuns. 


APPENDIX. 


f 


* 


APPENDIX. 


f HE “ Priest and Nun,” while presented in the 
form of fiction, claims to be based upon facts, 
j and in all its delineations to be true to the life* 
The authoress has, howe ver, taken full liberty in the 
grouping and arrangement of her happily-chosen in- 
cidents, in order to secure the proper artistic •?' root; 
nor has she deemed it expedient to give to any of the 
incidents (as she could not for obvious reasons give 
to aii of them) actual dates, localities or names. Yet 
the publishers are fully persuaded that her claim to 
verity is well founded, and that no one point made 
by her against the insidious working of the Roman 
Catholic power in this country, especially in connec- 
tion with the convent system, is either untruthful or 
at all exaggerated. 

Since the manuscript came into our hands, and 
while the process of stereotyping has been going for- 
ward, we have received additional proofs of its en- 
tire truthfulness by many facts which have come to 
our knowledge, corresponding to and confirmatory 

of the most startling of the statements herein made. 

479 


480 


APPENDIX. 


We have beeome cognizant of several instances of 
forcible abductions, entirely similar to that of Grace 
Kemp, in which every sacred obligation of home and 
kindred has been trampled down, and the natural 
protectors and defenders of beautiful and accom- 
plished young girls have, by priestly artifice, been 
made submissive tools to aid in their imprisonment in 
convents for conscience ’ sake: instances, also, of the 
most cruel treatment , in the convents, of those who 
have been beguiled to a willing taking of the veil, 
but who have subsequently seen their error, mourned 
over their folly and sought release from their vow — 
treatment which has (in one instance at least) caused 
lifelong injury to the health of the poor girl who 
was at length delivered from the convent. 

We only wish that we might state these cases, with 
all their minute details, for the information of the 
entire Protestant community. But we must, even 
like our authoress, be restrained from this by the 
wishes of the parties immediately interested. 

We are not so restricted, however, in respect to 
a most remarkable case which occurred in Louis- 
ville, Ky., within a year past, and which is almost 
the exact counterpart of that of Estelle Wynford, as 
to the method taken to retain for the convent the 
great wealth of a young heiress, by actually swearing 
away her identity. This case, as stated in one of the 


APPENDIX. 


481 


Louisville daily papers among its passing news 
items, we give on page 482, and would invite special 
attention to it. 

The case of Mary Ann Smith, who was spirited 
away from Newark, N. J., on the 24th day of March, 
1868, is also open to the public, and an account of it 
may be readily found in the pamphlet published by 
Rev. H. Mattison, D. D. ; and although we do not 
claim that this young girl’s character has yet been as 
thoroughly vindicated as we could wish, and are ready 
to allow much to parental authority as exercised over 
a minor, we nevertheless boldly assert that, on their 
own showing, tne abductors and imprisoners of this 
girl stand convicted of a very grave offence against 
that freedom of conscience and personal liberty 
which ought to be sacred in this land. 

In England, even more than in this country, at- 
tention has been of late awakened to the glaring 
abuses perpetrated in convents. Within a few 
months the Hull Convent case has been adjudicated 
in the courts, and has excited great interest. We 
furnish a synopsis of it on page 486, extracted from 
the foreign correspondence of one of our own weekly 
religious journals; and we doubt not it will impress 
all who read it as affording a remarkable unveiling of 
the inmr life of those who take the veil. 

In addition to these and a few other minor inci- 
2 F 


41 


482 


APPENDIX. 


dents, we have also placed in this Appendix some 
statistical information, to which we invite attention* 
as showing what the Roman Catholic Church is doing, 
and what she aims at in this country. We do not 
believe she will ever attain her aims, but we believe 
that “ ceaseless vigilance is the price of liberty” 


A LAWSUIT FOR A MILLION. 

A TWELVE- YEAR-OLD HEIRESS IN DISPUTE — ONE OF THE MOST 
REMARKABLE CASES ON RECORD — A PHYSICIAN AND A CATH- 
OLIC SCHOOL THE CONTESTANTS. 

One of the most extraordinary cases on record is 
now pending before Judge Bruce in the Circuit 
Court. The facts connected therewith, so far as we 
have been able to gather them, are as follows : 

Dr. Samuel E. McKinley, son of Judge McKinley, 
formerly Judge of the Supreme Court of the United 
States, and United States Judge of this circuit, was 
residing and practicing his profession at New Orleans 
when that city was captured by the Federal army. 
He was retained as surgeon for the Confederate sick, 
and was afterward retained in the United States 
service. The doctor married a very wealthy heiress, 
a Miss Morrison, of Louisiana, by whom he has two 
children — one a boy named James, who is now with 


APPENDIX . 


483 


him in St. Louis, and the other a little girl, E. J. 
Lyon McKinley, twelve years of age. His w r ife 
dying during the infancy of the girl, the Doctor in 
1864 moved to New Albany, Indiana, taking with 
him his two children. About a year ago last winter, 
he moved to this city, where he remained till some 
time in 1867, and becoming desirous of going back 
to New Orleans to look after his property, left his 
little daughter at the Ursuline Academy, a Catholic 
female school in this city, for education, sending her 
from time to time money to pay her expenses. 
Before, or about the time of vacation, the Doctor 
having moved and established himself in St. Louis, 
requested Judge Taylor to send by Adams Express 
his little daughter to him, the express company agree- 
ing to undertake the care and custody of the child. 
When Judge Taylor applied for the child, the 
Superior of the Academy objected to letting her go 
till her tuition should be fully paid. The Doctor, 
on learning this, declared he had sent by mail the 
full amount, and then came for her himself. His 
counsel advising him that the Academy could not 
retain a lien on the child for their money, he sued 
out a writ of habeas corpus before his Honor Judge 
Bruce; and this case, as it happens, is the first 
brought before Judge Bruce since qualifying as our 
circuit judge. The Sapei'ior of the Academy , answer - 


484 


APPENDIX. 


ing the writ, stated that the girl was named Lizzu 
Brown ; that she was not the Doctor’s daughter ; that 
she was fifteen years of age; and that the Doctor 
was drunken and unfit to control the child. This 
answer was yesterday adjudged insufficient, and the 
respondent was required to state the time and the 
means by which respondent obtained possession of 
the child — that a mere allegation that the Doctor was 
not her father was no ground for respondent to retain 
her. While the Doctor was away, some two weeks 
ago, it seems that the Superior applied to the County 
Court to become her guardian, and exhibited, it is 
claimed, a printed envelope with the name of E. J. 
Lyon McKinley, in which her father had enclosed 
money to his daughter — this being the true name. 
It is also alleged he has letters from the Superior 
calling her, his daughter, Lyon. 

It is further said that she has become a Catholic, 
contrary to her father’s wishes, who is an Episco- 
palian, and that she will, at her grandfather’ s death, 
become the heiress of more than a million. 

The case coming up yesterday afternoon, and the 
parties not being ready for trial on account of absent 
witnesses, it was continued till next Friday at 9 
o’clock a. M. The court ruled the answer of the re- 
spondent insufficient, and required her to be more 
explicit. — Louisville Daily Courier, Aug. 28, 1868. 


APPENDIX. 


485 


INCIDENT IN THE TRIAL OF MR. CHINIQUY. 

Two witnesses swore point-blank against Mr. 
Chiniquy, and it was clear that he must be convicted 
next day, and, if convicted, sent to the penitentiary. 
This the reporter of a leading Chicago paper tele- 
graphed, and the news was at once published, as the 
trial excited much interest. A Roman Catholic who 
had read the paragraph remarked to his wife, with 
satisfaction, that they were going to get rid of 
Chiniquy at last, and mentioned the news. 

She said, “ If he is convicted on that testimony, 
it is false.” 

“How do you know that?” asked her husband. 

“ Because I and another lady were visiting the niece 
<°>f such a priest (naming him), and the door of his 
room was not quite close. He did not know we were 
there, and we overheard the whole bargain made with 
these two witnesses, that they were to swear so and 
so, and to get twT> hundred acres of land.” 

“ Can you swear to this ?” said her husband. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Can the other lady swear to it ?” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

The gentleman, though a Roman Catholic, loved 
justice more than the priesthood, and started at once 
for the night train He reached the place of trial 

47 * 


486 


APPENDIX. 


about two o’clock in the morning, roused Mr. Lincoln, 
told him to telegraph for the witnesses he named ; 
and Mr. Lincoln, after doing so, came to Mr. Cliin- 
iquy’s room (who was spending the night on his 
knees) to tell him that he was all safe. 

When these ladies appeared in court, the priest 
asked what was their business and if they were 
going to destroy him. They said they would have 
to tell the truth, but it was he who had destroyed 
himself. Thereupon there was a consultation, and 
the prosecution came into court requesting leave to 
withdraw the charge, saying that further evidence 
had convinced’ them of its groundlessness, and offer- 
ing to pay expenses and apologize to the accused. — 
Correspondent of Montreal Witness. 


CONVENT LIFE IN ENGLAND. 

EXTRAORDINARY REVELATIONS — PERSECUTION OF A NUN. 

Edinburgh, February 13, 1869. 

Messrs. Editors : I have a very remarkable tale 
to communicate to your readers — a real narrative of 
facts of our own day, showing the existing convent 
life in England, brought out during an eight days’ 
trial in a court of justice. These facts are strange 
indeed 


APPENDIX . 


487 


The case has been eight days before the Court of 
Q,ueen ? s Bench in London, and, though still unfin- 
ished, has so far produced a profound sensation 
throughout Great Britain. The complainant is a 
Miss Saurin, a young lady of good family and of 
high connections in Ireland. The defendants are a 
Mrs. Starr, the Mother Superior of the Convent of 
Our Lady of Mercy, at Hull, in England, and a 
Mrs. Kennedy, a local Superior in the same establish- 
ment. All the parties are Roman Catholics, passion- 
ately devoted to their Church. Two of Miss Saurin ? s 
sisters are nuns in different Roman Catholic Orders, 
her brother is a Jesuit priest, her uncle is the head 
of the Drogheda Convent of the Sisters of Mercy, 
and she herself, so far back as 1850 — contrary to the 
wishes of her parents, who thought two of their 
daughters quite enough to be devoted to the service 
of the Church as nuns — entered the Convent of the 
Sisters of Mercy, in Bagot street, Dublin, as a postu- 
lant. In 1851 she became a novice, and toward the 
close of the same year she made profession as a 
regular Sister of the Order of Mercy in the same 
institution, taking the name of Sister Mary Scholas- 
tica Joseph. In accordance with her vow of 
“ poverty ,” she surrendered to the convent the sum 
of £300. Mrs. Starr and Mrs. Kennedy were postu- 
lants and novices in the convent, and made their 


488 


APPENDIX. 


professions about the same time — the former taking 
the name of Sister Mary Josephine; the latter that 
of Sister Mary Magdalene. All were there, and 
down till 1857 on the best of terms with each other. 
In August, 1857, Mrs. Starr left to be Mother 
Superior of a new convent at Clifford, in Yorkshire; 
Mrs. Kennedy followed her, and in 1858, at the re- 
quest of both, Miss Saurin, with the reluctant consent 
of her parents, joined them. Soon after there was 
opened another new convent in Hull, over which 
Mrs. Starr was appointed Mother Superior ; in point 
of fact, Mrs. Starr held the office of Mother Superior 
in both; and in both Miss Saurin, down till 1864, 
spent the whole of her time, acting as housekeeper, 
visiting the sick and taking charge of a morning and 
evening school. It is necessary to state here that 
Mrs. Kennedy passed the greater part of her nun- 
ship at Hull, acting as a sort of local assistant, and 
that two other ladies came upon the scene — a Mrs. 
De Lane and a Mrs. M’Owne, each of whom in turn 
acted as local assistant to Mrs. Starr at Clifford. 
The friendly relations of all these parties were not 
disturbed down till 1860, when it seems Mrs. Starr 
demanded that Miss Saurin should tell her what passed 
between herself and the priest at confessions. Miss 
Saurin declined to allow her bosom secrets to be 
known even to h^r Superior, believing that to reveal 


AFFENDIX. 


489 


them would be a breach of honor, and that nothing 
in the vows of “obedience” she had taken required 
her to divulge them. Mrs. Starr insisted upon know- 
ing the nature of the confessions, and was again 
refused, the result of course being mutual alienation 
and dislike. Mrs. Starr, however, was not to be 
beaten. She would have her sweet revenge. From 
that time everything that Miss Saurin did was un- 
satisfactory ; punishments and penances were there- 
fore inflicted with a frequency and a persistency 
which ought to have worn out the soul, if not the 
body, of an ordinary lady. “ Some work had been 
sent from Hull for me to do,” says Miss Saurin, and 
the Mother Superior “ obliged me to cut it out and 
prepare it on Sundays.” The usual time of rising in 
the convent is half past five o’clock, and the usual 
time of retiring to bed ten o’clock. Mrs. Starr 
ordered Miss Saurin to get up about three o’clock in 
the morning and pursue her work till the latest hour 
at night. “ I went to her cell one night,” continued 
the complainant, “ and said, ‘ Reverend Mother, what 
in the world am I doing that gives you so much dis- 
pleasure? I am trying my best to please you and 
give you satisfaction. If you tell me anything more 
that I can do, I will try and do it.’ She replied, 
‘ I allow you too much liberty, and I am determined 
to pull you down.’ ” True to her word, “ down” she 


490 


APPENDIX. 


did pull her. In every variety of pett) form and 
way she thwarted and vexed her, and even when life 
in the convent had become almost unendurable, and 
Miss Saurin felt it necessary to write to her parents 
and friends to have her removed to Dublin, hei 
letters were either not sent, or, when sent, the replies 
to them were intercepted, portions of them erased, 
and several of them never handed to her at all. In 
point of fact all this attempted letter-writing, com- 
plaining of grievances and seeking relief was deemed 
by the amiable Mother Superior and her faithful, 
substitute, Mrs. Kennedy, as insubordination , a viola- 
tion of the vows of obedience^ and to be punished 
accordingly. Let me now give you, from Miss 
Saurin’s evidence, the following exquisite morceaux 
of conventual discipline : 

“My mother and brother called upon me about this 
time. I was teaching in the school, and saw them 
arrive. I sent a girl from the school to answer the 
bell. In a few minutes Mrs. M’Owne came to me in 
the school and ordered me to go to my cell. She 
told me my mother and brother had come, but that 
she could not allow me to see them, as Mrs. Starr 
had given her directions to that effect. It is usual to 
go after school to the chapel to pay a visit to the 
sacrament, and in doing so I passed the open door 
of the reception-room, where my mother and brother 


APPENDIX. 


491 


were. My mother saw me, and came and embraced 
me, but as I had not leave to speak to her I passed 
on as quickly as I could without speaking to her — 
Mrs. M’Owne following me to my cell. She desire l 
me to close the door of my cell, and said she would 
send my mother and brother away. I asked her to 
let me see my mother, because I thought she would 
not leave without seeing me ; but she said she could 
not, and I closed the door and she went away. She 
returned in five minutes, saying my mother had 
brought an order from Mrs. Starr, and I went to my 
mother at the end of the corridor. My mpther 
clasped me in her arms and exclaimed, ‘My child, 
are they going to make a prisoner of you V Mrs. 
M’Owne tried to excuse herself by saying she was 
obliged by Mrs. Starr to refuse her seeing me.” 

This is not bad as a specimen; it is nothing, now- 
ever, to what followed. The crime of letter-writing 
to her parents and uncle was unpardonable, even 
after the offence had been confessed and atoned for. 
Miss Saurin was compelled to go down on her knees be- 
fore the whole convent and make a full acknowledgment 
of her “guilt” in writing letters of complaint to her 
uncle. The result of this confession was permission 
to write once a year under" the direction of th« 
Mother Superior. But Miss Saurin was severely 
punished. Though, with the exception of the 


492 


APPENDIX. 


Mother Superior, she was the oldest member of the 
sisterhood attached to the convent, she was placed 
under subjection to a novice, and made to do all the 
menial work usually allotted to the youngest novices, 
such as scrubbing the floors, making the beds, and 
cleaning out the closet. A “ distribution of time,” 
also, was prescribed for her — quite an unusual thing 
in the case of professed nuns ; that is to say, every 
hour of the day had a prescribed duty which she was 
bound to discharge. What some of these duties 
were let the complainant herself tell : 

“ At Hull I had three corridors to sweep and dust 
every day, and three altars, fourteen stations of the 
cross, closets, stone hall, two pairs of stairs, the sink 
and the doors and windows generally. I was also 
called upon to empty a large dust-box. I had, 
further, to sweep the walls and do needlework. 
Several times Mrs. Starr called me from mass and 
chapel to clean the closet. She had a window in it 
blocked up, because she said I had gone there to sew 
on strings and write down what was said. Some of 
these duties had to be performed in the dark in win- 
ter. I was not allowed the extra hour on Saturdays. 
Frequently I was unable to get the work done on 
Saturdays, and I had to finish it on Sundays. I had 
to carry the dust-box across the yard, and was ex- 
posed to the children. The Sisters are not allowed 


APPENDIX. 


493 


to go out on wet days. On one occasion 1 did go, 
and I had to hold the box the following Sunday 
morning in my hand, as a penance, during lecture- 
time, at the end of the table, in the presence of all the 
community. I was directed to wear a duster over 
my head. Mrs. Starr thought I had not sufficiently 
dusted some chairs in the community-room. She took 
the duster to put over my head. I told her it was 
wet. She sent Mrs. Kerr to dry it, and then Mrs. 
Starr put it over my veil, and I was obliged to wear 
it all day in the chapel and at meal-times. It was a 
soiled duster. The corridor was covered with cocoa- 
natting, and required three to carry it. I was di- 
rected to take it into the yard by myself to dust it. 
It had been swept in the corridor up to that time.” 

Fine spiritual exercises these for a young lady ! 
Still I have not told you the worst. A piece of calico 
and a pair of scissors are found in Miss Saurin’s cell, 
contrary to her vows of “ poverty.” She is remon- 
strated with, and although she is able to show that 
she is making a coif for Mrs. Starr herself, she is se- 
verely punished. She is not allowed soap , towels or 
water ; she gets the washings of the coffee-pots, with 
the leavings of the plates of the Sisters ; she is fed 
uever-endingly on mutton, which she dislikes, and 
which she is at length necessitated to refuse. Once 
more let the complainant speak for herself : 

42 


494 


APPENDIX. 


“About the 30th of May, 1865, I reached the con- 
vent from school about four o’clock. I had a little 
tea and bread, and then I went to the community- 
room. In passing Mrs. Starr’s room she called me in. 
Mrs. Kennedy was there. The door was then closed 
Mrs. Starr desired me to take off my clothes. I hes- 
itated for a few moments, and then I remembered my 
vow of obedience. I then took off my veil, habit, 
cincture and beads. I waited a little while between 
each, but she hurried me and helped to pull them off, 
and examined each article. She unhooked a pocket, 
and pulled it very roughly from me and threw it to 
Mrs. Kennedy. I asked her to let me have my hand- 
kerchief that was in it, as I was crying, and Mrs. 
Kennedy gave it me. Mrs. Starr then directed me to 
take off my skirt and stays. I did so, but each ar- 
ticle she rudely pulled from me. Each article as it 
was taken off was examined. I never saw my pocket 
nor the contents afterward. Mrs. Starr undid my 
last skirt and examined my person.” 

The Lord Chief Justice — “ Did she convey to you 
for what purpose ?” 

Plaintiff — “No, my lord. She dragged the scap- 
ular off my neck, and also a small rosary I was wear- 
ing. She then threw me back some of my clothes 
to put on. I put them on, and when dressed I left 
he room by her orders. My examined-book, which 


APPEN, X. 


495 


contained entries relative to confession, was in my 
pocket. The articles produced were taken from my 
desk, except one examined-book that was in my 
pocket. About the 1st or 2d of December, 1865, I 
was sitting at my place in the community-room. Mrs. 
Starr came into the room, and by her orders I went 
into the small room adjoining, and in the presence of 
Mrs. Dawson I had to undress, standing opposite the 
open door, with the Sisters constantly communicating 
with Mrs. Starr. My clothes were all taken off ex- 
cept my inside tunic. This occupied considerable 
time. I was standing all the time, and felt very cold. 
I put the habit over my shoulders, but Mrs. Starr 
rudely pulled it off. She told Mrs. Dawson she 
could not tell how I could stay in the house, and that 
I might go as soon as I liked.” 

This last statement, “ I might go as soon as 1 
liked,” revealed the culmination of Mrs. Starr’s in- 
iquity. It turned out that, while all the petty perse- 
cutions referred to were going on, the Mother Supe- 
rioi had been secretly holding correspondence with 
the Bishop with a view to the removal of her victim 
under circumstances of deep disgrace. Charges which 
Miss Saurin never saw or heard, and which now turn 
out to have been utterly untrue, were preferred against 
her; a mock trial was instituted before the Bishop 
and a commission, and sentence was passed. The 


496 


APPENDIX. 


sentence absolved the unhappy girl from her re- 
ligious vows. The way in which it was commu- 
nicated to her and the manner in which she re- 
ceived it are best described in her own words. She 
says: 

“ Mrs. Starr and Mrs. Kennedy came to my cell 
about five o’clock on the morning of the 12th of 
February. Mrs. Starr advanced to my bed and said, 
C 1 want all your religious dress; you are to leave 
the convent to-day.’ Mrs. Kennedy secured the 
greater part of it, and Mrs. Starr took my rosary and 
cincture that were at the head of the bed, and part of 
a secular dress was left for me to wear, which I re- 
fused to put on. Previous to this I had written to 
the Bishop, who, in reply, informed me I should have 
to leave the convent, and that I should be absolved. 
Later in the day, about nine o’clock, Mrs. Starr came 
to me with Mrs. Kennedy and a number of the Sis- 
ters. She read to me, as if from a letter, that the 
Bishop had dispensed me, commuting it for the first 
ten masses after I received notice, whether I would or 
not. I was to be got rid of at the shortest possible 
notice. She said, ( Will you go ?’ I replied, ‘ I will 
not. I would rather die than leave the convent of 
my own free will ; but it pleased God to leave n e at 
her mercy, and she might do as she pleased.’ She 
said, ‘ T can’t put you out.’ I said, ‘ I will die w here 


APPENDIX. 


497 


I am.’ This occurred in my cell, where I was sitting 
up in a bed. Mrs. Kennedy threatened me with all 
kinds of vengeance from God and the Bishop. Mrs 
Starr checked her. . They then all left. Mrs. Starr 
afterward came to my cell with a secular dress. 1 
refused to put it on, and it was taken away. She 
came in again with lay Sister Mary Collingwood, and 
said she could not have me with the Sisters, and that 
I must go to the bath-room. Mrs. Starr followed me 
there. I remained there until April. I had no fire 
allowed me. It was very cold. I was not allowed 
any religious book. A Sister was with me day and 
night. The Sisters had plenty of warm clothes and 
hot-water bottles for their feet. Mrs. Starr took 
away a piece of carpet I used for warmth. I was in 
April removed to an attic by direction of Mrs. Ken- 
nedy, where I found Mrs. Starr. It was always used 
as a lumber-room, and it was very dirty. The bed 
in it was dirty, and I had to use the sheets that had 
been used by me in the bath-room in the previous 
February. When I was removed to the attic a Sister 
slept in the corridor, and a rope was attached to the 
attic-room door and her bed. A Sister sat at the 
attic door in the day, and after I had been there a 
short time I was not permitted to leave it for any 
purpose. The window was darkened, and there was 
very little light. I had a soiled blanket and a rug 
42 * 2 G 


493 


APPENDIX. 


foi the bed. The blanket was affected with vermin. 
I complained, but no change was made. Food wa* 
brought to me on a plate. I had to sit on the floor. 
A chair that was in the room was put to the other 
side of the room, and I was told not to go there, 
and I habitually sat on the floor. The lay Sister 
who had to watch me used to clean the knives and 
that sort of work in the room. One day, when the 
weather was warm, the Sisters were changed eighteen 
times. The room was most offensive. On one occa- 
sion six Sisters with bad legs, who used liniments, 
were there at one time. I was not allowed to leave 
the room for any purpose whatever. At times I felt 
as if I had lost my senses. I thought at one time I 
was dying, and I wrote to my brother Patrick to 
come to me and to let me know what my beloved pa- 
rents would have me do. Mrs. Starr and Mrs. Ken- 
nedy dictated the greater part of the letter. They 
told me the Bishop would not let me leave the con- 
vent alone. He came over about the 13th of March, 
and he brought Sir Henry Cooper, an eminent phy- 
sician, to see me. After that the food and conduct of 
the officials became worse. I was not allowed to be 
alone with my physician. Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. 
Dawson sat near enough to hear what was said. My 
brother went out when the doctor came in. He sug- 
gested they should leave also, but they refused. The 


APPENDIX. 


499 


next day my brother came and took me from the 
convent.” 

The result of the whole, as might be expected, is 
the trial instituted by the relatives of the young lady, 
and now being conducted in the light of day before 
a British judge and jury. Eight days have already 
been occupied in taking evidence, and it is believed 
that at least eight days more will be consumed before 
a verdict can be obtained. I may state, however, 
that nothing has yet occurred in the slightest degree 
to affect Miss Saurin’s direct testimony. She was 
three days under examination, and came out of a 
most searching cross-examination — in which all kinds 
of jesuitical insinuations were made as to her life 
and conduct — utterly unscathed. Her statements were 
straightforward and consistent throughout, and had 
the ring of sincerity and honesty about them ; while 
it is too evident that her persecutors, so far as can be 
judged of the line of conduct pursued by their coun- 
sel and the evidence of the Mother Superior, have no 
defence that will for a moment weigh with a jury of 
twelve good men and true.” As a specimen of the 
ingenuity of Rome in trying to damage character 
when its owner is in peril, let me give you the follow- 
ing from the cross-examination of Miss Saurin : 

“ I never took a book from any Sister for the pur- 
pose of secreting it. I never took another Sister’s 


500 


APPENDIX. 


book for a temporary purj>ose without permission. \ 
have held business conversation with one of the 
priests at Hull. I never endeavored to attract his 
attention on any occasion. I was never in an habitual 
state of excitement when he came to the convent. I 
never purposely put myself in his way. Sister Mary 
was at the school ; I never remember being with her 
in the presence of the priest. I never went on my 
knees, pulled things out of his hand and entreated 
him to go with me, in her presence. I have not the 
least idea of anything that will give a color to such 
a charge, etc., etc. I never endeavored to make 
strife between the Mother Superior and the Sisters. 
I never put the clock back or altered it for my own 
convenience. We are allowed lights in the cells until 
ten o’clock, and one night a week a quarter of an 
hour later. I was never charged with having ends 
of candles in my cell. We used gas at Hull and at 
Clifford. I never put a letter in a book for one of 
the children to get it and take to the post. When 
refectorian I had to make the tea, but I never poured 
out a good cup and put it by for myself with buttered 
toast.” (Laughter.) 

It is enough to quote a few of these answei’s to 
show the nature of the charges trumped up against 
this poor unfortunate nun. 

Next, Mrs. Starr was put upon the stand, and ex- 


APPENDIX ; 


501 


amined in defence of her own conduct. Her testi- 
mony consisted simply in a repetition of the petty 
charges against Miss Saurin, to which the latter 
when under cross-examination, gave in nearly ever) 
case an emphatic denial. Thus she charged Miss 
Saurin with being particularly unobservant of the 
rules of the convent in the matter of poverty and 
obedience. “ She had articles of clothing, such as 
bits of cotton, by her which she had no right to.” 
“ On the occasion of Cardinal Wiseman’s visit to the 
convent, Miss Saurin appropriated a pair of Mrs. 
Kennedy’s shoes without leave. She repeatedly saw 
Miss Saurin eat out of meal-times ! One day she 
saw her go into the pantry. Witness asked her a 
question, but she was unable to answer as her mouth 
was too full ! Miss Saurin was so ashamed of her- 
self that she nearly fainted.” “ When refectorian, 
Miss Saurin was partial in her distribution of food. 
She used to give better food to the seniors than to 
the juniors. Witness thereupon changed the plates, 
and when they were uncovered, the unfair distribu- 
tion was made apparent. The seniors had the worst 
of it that day.” Miss Saurin used too affectionate 
a tone in her letters to her relations. Her language 
was not sufficiently restrained ! To write to her 
uncle, though lie was a priest, ‘ My ever dearest uncle/ 
exceeded the limits of language enjoined upon the 


502 


APPENDIX. 


witness when she was a novice. 5 ’ “The plaintiff 
was guilty of other violations of rule. She had 
gathered unripe gooseberries in the garden ! She 
used a candle to go to bed with in July, and denied 
it. She washed her clothes on a certain day against 
general orders. She spoke to strangers when for- 
bidden — among others to the Rev. Mr. Collimere, the 
chaplain of the convent. Being fond of early rising, 
Miss Saurin put the clock forward a quarter of an 
hour.” 

Such, amid roars of laughter in court, were a 
number of the heinous transgressions of the poor 
nun. As nothing worse has so far been proved, I 
think you may look confidently to a verdict against 
the defendants. Caledonia. 

P. S. — The expectation of our correspondent was 
well founded. The trial lasted some days longer, 
and resulted in a verdict for the plaintiff \ with damages 
of five hundred pounds! This is a righteous judg- 
ment. This convent system — shutting up young 
women in cells almost like those of a prison, sub- 
jecting them to a thousand petty annoyances and 
persecutions, by which the life is crushed out of 
their young hearts — cannot stand before the light of 
day, and is sure not to find much favor whenever its 
vices .and its cruelties are exposed to the honest in- 


APPENDIX. 


503 


cognation and the righteous verdict of a British jury. 
— Eds. Evan. 

N. Y. Evangelist , March 11, 1869. 


REV. DR. CUMMING ON CONVENTS. 

The Rev. Dr. Camming, London, delivered a 
Lecture in the Scotch National Church on the nature 
and rules of convent life. The Rev. gentleman, 
after some introductory remarks, proceeded to place 
the suicide, the nun and the monk on the same level, 
in the respect that each from various reasons sought 
to hide themselves from the world and its turmoils. 
A convent was a place where no man was allowed to 
visit except the priest who received confession. 
There were two hundred and forty convents and 
thirty monasteries in England, and from seven thou- 
sand to ten thousand nuns shut up in these prisons. 
The queen could send her inspectors to any of our 
lunatic asylums to see that justice was done, but into 
those convents where these ladies were shut up no 
official dared to enter to inform the world what was 
going on ; and it was said, rather than submit to lay 
inspection, the Roman Catholics would sweep every 
convent from the land. But, argued the Rev. Doctor, 
if they were such abodes of bliss, so fragrant with 


APPENDIX 


604 

virtue, surely their conductors would court visits from 
the inspector, that he might tell the world of the 
joys of the inmates, and induce others to enter. On 
the contrary, by the Council of Trent the secular arm 
was invoked to keep the vrorld outside, and to pre • 
vent the nun from escaping from her cell under any 
pretence whatever. The Rev. gentleman proceeded 
to read a very dreadful curse which was pronounced 
on any layman who in any way interfered with the 
seclusion of the nun. He was to be cursed sleeping 
and waking, from the sole of his foot to the crown 
of his head. No doubt this curse in part was pro- 
nounced on the jury, and particularly on the solicitor- 
general for his able and eloquent speech in the de- 
fence of Miss Saurin. 

Dr. Cumming proceeded to read copious extracts 
from accredited authorities to show the dreadful 
system and laws by which convents were governed, 
showing the system was more even to blame than the 
Mother Superior. According to the discipline as laid 
down, the Superior was allowed to flog a nun, if net 
done in the presence of strangers or a novice. Nuns 
were forbidden to see faults in the Superior, but were 
to obey her as God, and also obey their confessor, not 
as man, but as God. What a dreadful system, if 
this priestcraft were carried out to the extent the 
Ritualists as well as Catholics desired, to have in 


APPENDIX 


505 


every district men, who knew the failings, the strong 
points, the prejudices and the weak points of their 
flocks ! In short, the confessor was enjoined to know 
him who confessed better than he knew himself. The 
Doctor next gave a graphic sketch, from Roman 
Catholic authorities, of the inducements held out to 
ladies to enter the convent. On the other hand, from 
the same sources the miseries of the married state; 
husbands were brutal, and children said to be a per- 
petual nuisance. He (Dr. Cumming) thought quite 
differently, for to him the two most beautiful things 
on earth were young children and flowers. He was 
afraid there were numbers of ladies being trained for 
convents by the Ritualists and others. But he would 
ask such if it were not better even to be living under 
a bad husband in their home than in a convent under 
such as Mrs. Starr. Was woman fit to be trusted 
with such autocratic power as the Mother Superior ? 
Was it an expedient thing for twenty or thirty women 
to be shut up together from the world, never to see a 
newspaper, and lead entirely a monotonous life? 
Such a life was alike as unnatural as useless, and to 
his (the lecturer’s) mind there was more Christianity 
in a mother’s apron than in the nun’s veil. — Ad- 
vertiser. [From N. Y. Obs. April 8, 1869. j 


506 


APPENDIX. 


CONVENT OF THE SACRED HEART. 

By Rev. S. M. Campbell, D. D., Rochester, N. Y. 

We have an institution with the above designation 
in Rochester, at which many young ladies from Prot- 
estant families are being educated, with the stipula- 
tion that their religion will not be in any way inter- 
fered with. To my great sorrow, one of the mem- 
bers of my own flock is an inmate of that institution ; 
and as she was recently at home on account of sick- 
ness, I gathered the following information concern- 
ing the management in the convent. 

Protestant girls, as well as Catholics, are forbidden 
to attend any religious service, even on the Sabbath, 
outside the convent. Those whose parents reside in 
the city are made no exception to this rule. They 
are not allowed to go even where their own parents 
worship. Their only resource is the convent chapel. 
Miss T., of my own church, says : 

1. “I find it very difficult to practice my own re- 
ligion. They do not forbid it, but their rules and 
regulations render it almost impossible. In order to 
pray in secret and read my Bible by myself, I am 
obliged daily to disobey the rules. No pupil has a 
room by herself. About thirty young ladies lodge in 
the room where I sleep, and we are barely allowed 
time to undress and get into bed when a ‘Sister* 


APPENDIX. 


507 


oi.mes through to see that all is right. I get up in 
tt 3 dark, after she has gone through, and kneel down 
and pray. I manage the case something in the same 
way in the morning. They seem trying to make us 
forget our own religion as much as possible. For a 
time I yielded and gave up my Bible and prayer, 
but lately I have done as I describe. 

2. “ Every Sunday they require us to learn a 
‘ Gospel/ and furnish us with Romish Testaments 
for that purpose. The girls generally use those Tes- 
taments, but last Sunday I used my own, and intend 
to do so hereafter, though they do not seem pleased 
with it. We are required every day, from half past 
eleven to twelve, to listen to a lesson on the doctrines 
of the Catholic Church. The Protestants do not re- 
cite or answer questions, but they are required to put 
away their books, sit round the teacher and listen re- 
spectfully to what she says. Her teaching lately has 
been on purgatory and the distinction between mortal 
sins and vernal sins. 

3. “ We are required to attend chapel service daily. 
We come in with long black veils thrown over us, 
and moving very slowly. On Sunday we have white 
veils. It seems very solemn, much like a funeral. 
On the altar are images of the Virgin and of St. 
Joseph, and we are all required to ‘bow down to 
them.* To dl conform to this regulation. 


508 


APPENDIX. 


“ Since Lent came in, seven pictures have been 
hung on each side of the chapel, and in coming in 
we are expected to kneel before each one in turn on 
our way to the altar while they pray to the Virgin. 
This is called ‘ the way to the Cross.’ The prayers 
are mostly for souls in purgatory. Several of us 
Protestants respectfully declined kneeling to the pic- 
tures , and were reprimanded for it in the chapel . 
Then we were taken into a room by ourselves and 
talked to very severely. * 

“ I have to use great effort to resist these influ- 
ences. Two Protestant girls , members of a Presby- 
terian church in Pennsylvania , go through the whole 
ceremony . They have been in the convent some time. 
One of our Protestants had just bought her some 
beads, and has great faith in them. She thought 
she got a clear day not long ago by using them in 
nrayer.” 

How faithfully the promise not to interfere in any 
way with their religion is kept with the Protestant 
young ladies at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, let 
candid readers of the above statement judge for 
themselves. How wise it may be to place our 
daughters at school where the influences are so bad 
that we feel obliged to exact any such promises, is 
still an additional question on which I would like to 
offer something at another time. — N. Y. Evangelist 


APPENDIX. 


509 


THE PRIESTS IN NEW YORK. 

A few months ago the Christian young men of 
one of our churches resolved to sustain prayer-meet- 
ings, one evening in the week, among the poor who 
literally swarm the tenement-houses of this city, and 
for this purpose secured two rooms in different locali- 
ties occupied by Protestants, who gladly assented to 
6uch a proposition. These meetings were quietly 
conducted and well attended, while many conversions 
rewarded the labors of these workmen of the Master. 
But Romanism was afraid of hymns and prayers, 
which might drop some spark of life into the souls 
of her poor slaves of superstition ; and so the landlord 
was instructed by the priests to forbid the meetings, 
which was done, for the penalty of disobedience was 
the expulsion of the family from their room. The 
same efforts were made, and as successfully, to close 
the other meeting, but the young men were not dis- 
couraged, and a third room was secured with a 
Protestant family, and here the numbers increased, 
and the Holy Spirit was poured out upon the dis- 
ciples thus gathered together. But again the priests 
became alarmed, the landlady was enjoined to forbid 
such meetings, and when the evening came not only 
was the door closed against them, but a Romish priest 
was at the door, insulting the young men, as, sur- 

43 * 


510 


APPENDIX . 


prised, they inquired the reason of this movement 
against the meeting of prayer. 

Now, how long shall Protestants be blind to the 
startling fact that Romanism is a foe to all which we 
hold dear in our republican institutions ; that she is 
determined to keep the iron fetters of ignorance and 
superstition upon the souls of the citizens of this 
land ; and that, had she only the power, she would 
to-day close every public school, burn every Bible, 
link together Church and State, and persecute, as 
bitterly as ever in the Dark Ages, those who dared to 
think for themselves ! Now is the hour to protest 
against that subtle and awful despotism, instead of 
sleeping on until that “protest” will be attended 
with war. — N. Y. Observer , April 22, 1869. 


ROMANISM ON THE RAMPAGE. 

A Catholic priest some time since intruded into a 
Presbyterian mission school in the South-west. His 
outrageous conduct was severely and deservedly 
criticised in the South- Western Presbyterian . The 
Catholic organ denied the facts, but they being 
proved, the priest ventured a public explanati )n, df 
which the following is a part : 

“ Some time ago rumors reached me that the 


APPENDIX. 


511 


enemy was insidiously at work establishing a viper s 
nest in the shape of a Sabbath-school mission in the 
neighborhood of the Jackson R. R. depot, for the 
purpose of carrying on a Protestant propagandism 
and proselyting institution — soliciting Catholic pa- 
rents to send their children thereto, and bribing 
Catholic children to frequent those dens of hypocrisy,, 
lies and deceit, in order to imbibe in that poisoned 
source those biblical cants and sanctimonious slang 
belched forth by their authors in Luciferian eructa- 
tions. Not wishing to act immediately upon the 
rumors until I would be better informed, four Sun- 
days ago I made a descent upon the den, and there 
found one of my Catholic children, whom I ordered 
out of that nest of darkness and irreligion, remarking 
to- one who was a Sabbath-school teacher, or con- 
nected therewith, that I would tolerate no one to 
influence the Catholics of my parish to frequent that 
haunt of error — that I would allow no wolf to come 
in the clothing of sheep and make incursions among 
my flock, without sounding the cry of alarm, and 
expurgating, with all the might of my moral force, 
my parish of this imported religious infection.” — 
N. Y. Evangelist , July 22, 1869. 


512 


APPENDIX 


AUSTRIA. 

A NUN RELEASED AFTER TWENTY YEARS’ CONFINEMENT 

Vienna, July 26. 

Great excitement was created last week in Cra- 
cow by the liberation of a nun confined in a convent 
twenty years. A popular demonstration on the occa- 
sion led to a series of disturbances. The military 
were called out to restore order, and many arrests 
were made. The city is now quiet . — Philadelphia 
Inquirer , July 27, 1869. 


POWER OF THE CONFESSIONAL. 

A writer in the Church of England Quarterly 
says : “ Let any one consider this subject well. What 
woman but must quail before the eye of him who has 
wrung out of her soul secrets with which no man on 
earth besides is cognizant? who has tortured her 
spirit to agony till it has forced from her lips words, 
the very recollection of which withers her heart and 
burns her cheek with the blush of shame? And 
what woman who thus quails before the eye of the 
confessor but must of necessity be already fitted as 
an instrument for all that he desires to effect in the 
way of influence with a husband, a brother or a son ? 


APPENDIX. 


513 


Rome insists upon unquestioning obedience from her 
children, and she well knows that the first step to it 
is the loss of self-respect on their part. There is that 
in every man’s heart which he holds in sacred confi- 
dence between himself and God — something in the 
sad experience of every man’s individual frailty which 
can only rightly be told to God, and be told in secret 
mournings of the spirit, which he alone in his mercy 
can understand and pity. The moment that another 
steps ir and possesses himself of the secret, the blessed 
nature of that holy confidence between the soul and 
God is broken in upon, and he who usurps the place 
of God becomes the master of the poor penitent. 
Body, soul and spirit are thenceforth delivered to his 
will, and are made the instrument by which he works 
his purpose.” 


PRESENT ASPECTS OF ROMANISM IN THIS 
COUNTRY. 

Here, in Protestant America, Catholicism is strid 
ing on with a conqueror’s tread. The shrewdest 
minds in the Roman Church have given up the Old 
World. They see, as well as we, the handwriting on 
the wall, and all their energies are set upon building 
up the old empire in the New World. They have 
hitherto succeeded beyond their best expectations; 


514 


APPENDIX. 


how well even facts and figures fail to adequately set 
forth. In 1800 there were in the United States 1 
bishop, 100 priests and about 50,000 laymen ; now, 
the Romanist can point to 44 dioceses, 3 vicariates- 
apostolic, 45 bishops, 3,795 churches, 2,317 clergy- 
men, 49 ecclesiastical institutions, 29 colleges, 134 
schools for girls, 66 asylums, 26 hospitals, and a 
communion of 4,000,000. In the older States the 
Catholics are a confessed power of great magnitude. 
They secure the choicest sites for their buildings, they 
erect churches at a cost at which Protestants would 
shudder, they make themselves seen and felt as no 
other sect can or cares to do. But they do not stop here. 
The energy of American Romanism is boundless. It 
outruns the advancing tide of our civilization, so that 
we learn by experience the truth of the European pro- 
verb, “ Discover a desert island, and a priest is wait- 
ing for you on the shore.” It is dotting the W estern 
prairies with churches and convents and religious 
houses. An article in a recent magazine informs us 
that an American “ saw two years ago, at Rome, a 
better map of the country west of the Mississippi than 
lie ever saw at home, upon which the line of the Pa- 
cific Railroad was traced, with every spot dotted 
where a settlement would naturally gather, and a con- 
jecture recorded as to its probable importance.” The 
four millions of blacks in the South, just in the tran- 


APPENDIX. 


515 


«ition state from slavery to freedom, susceptible to 
any influence that comes clothed in the garb of kind- 
ness, offer an inviting field, and Romanism is not 
slow to recognize the fact and turn it to account. A 
teacher of the American Missionary Association in 
Texas says that the greatest evil he has to contend 
with is the Catholic influence at work among the 
people. A biography of Peter Clavers, a Jesuit mis- 
sionary, has recently been published, detailing the 
wonderful sacrifices he made to preach the gospel to 
the blacks, as a proof that the Catholic Church was 
the earliest and is the truest friend of the negro. 

Perhaps, on the basis of facts like this, the Roman- 
ist is not so far wrong in drawing the conclusion which 
an able writer in the Catholic World for October thus 
^expresses : “ The question put to us a few years since, 
with a smile of mixed incredulity and pity, ‘ Do you 
believe that this country will ever become Catholic ?* 
is now changed to, ‘ How soon do you think it will corm 
to pass V Soon, very soon,” he continues, “ we reply, 
if statistics be true, for it appears by the calculations 
of a late Protestant writer that the rate of growth of 
the Catholic religion has been 75 per cent, greater 
than the ratio of increase of population, while the 
rate of the increase of Protestantism is 11 per cent, 
less.” 

With change of fortune there has come, as might 


516 


APPENDIX. 


be expected, a change in the attitude of Romanism on 
this continent. Once it was very well contented with 
“ leave to be;” now, it is the most grasping and de- 
fiant of denominationalisms. The enormous influx 
of emigration and the easy conditions of citizenship 
have made it a first-class political power in a country 
where, next tc dollars, votes are omnipotent. It has 
taken possession of New York City by fifty thousand 
majority, and, remembering its majority of a thousand 
in one ward of Boston last autumn, it would not be 
safe to deny that it is soon to control this city. In- 
deed, it looks now as if nearly all the cities and large 
towns of the country were, by naturalizing of voters, 
to be given over to it. And it is the problem which 
may be the next to solve in this country, whether the 
civilizing influence of free institutions will be able to 
keep pace with the influx of ignorant foreign voters, 
so as to keep the balance of power on the side of free- 
dom, virtue and good government. 

To purchase that vote unscrupulous politicians are 
willing to pay any price, and those who control it are 
by no means scant in their demands, always asking 
and receiving that which will inure to the advance- 
ment of Catholicism. In 1866 the Legislature of 
New York voted for Romish institutions over 
$124,000, and to like institutions of Protestants and 
Jews combined, $4000. Between January and July 


APPENDIX. 


517 


of 18G7, New York City granted to Romish institu- 
tions $120,000. For two successive years the “City 
Levy Tax Bill” in New York City has given them 
$80,000. They hold, by special grant, a lease of 
land on Fifth avenue, valued at nearly $2,000,000, 
for ninety-nine years, at a ground-rent of one dollar 
a year. You say this is New York, but go as far 
West as Idaho and Colorado, and you find the legis- 
latures of each appropriating $30,000 for Catholic 
schools. The Catholics themselves are mostly of the 
poorer laboring classes, but they find themselves in a 
position to demand, and do demand and receive from 
the Protestants of America, vast sums to defray the 
enormous expenses of their growing establishment. 
They find money for foreign needs, sending as they 
did last year to the Pope nearly $3,000,000. When 
legislatures fail them, they search out other ways of 
bleeding the community. They placard the streets 
with notices of proposed charities, and call upon all 
to aid them in building their hospitals and asylums 
and refuges ; and failing in voluntary subscriptions, 
they bully men with threats of withdrawal of patron- 
age if their demands are not met. And yet every 
sane man knows, or ought to know, that every dollar 
given to that cause goes as really to the upbuilding 
of Romanism as though he dropped it, with Peter’s 
pence, into the Pope’s strong box. But the Catholic 

44 


518 


APPENDIX. 


wants money, and money he must have, and the 
money he gets , and in such profusion that the Church 
has always something laid by in store for anticipated 
wants, till “it has become a question of no small 
moment as affecting the public interests to what use 
this vast property, growing so rapidly, is by and by 
to be put ?” In a land where so many public men 
are vendible commodities, always up to the highest 
bidder, the gravest changes in the social order are by 
no means impossible. 

The growing aggressiveness of Romanism has been 
perhaps most distinctly marked in its attempted in- 
terference with systems of public education. Com- 
mencing with the outbreak in the Boston schools in 
1859 , there has been ever since a constant clamor for 
sectarian schools, or at least a banishment of Bible 
reading and prayer from the list of school exercises. 
The disgraceful measure of success which has attended 
this movement is too well known. No scholar now 
need commit the sin of reading from the Word of 
God, or joining in the recitation of the prayer which 
our Lord taught his disciples, if priest or Catholic 
parent forbid. The Protestant child may be com- 
pelled to this exercise — the Romanist is a privileged 
character and may do as he pleases. The effort is to 
t>e continued till all recognition of God is banished 
from our schools ; some of which, in Massachusetts 


APPENDIX. 


519 


at least, were established for the very purpose of 
guarding against the wiles of the Papacy — a fact which 
those who are interested may find by referring to 
Paper 682 of the Colonial Record.* 

Yet, judging of the future from the past, Catholic- 
ism will probably carry its point — if not immediately, 
sooner or later. For they are full belie rers in the 
truth of the saying, “ Patient waiters are no losers. 
All the signs of the times point to a day, and that 
not far distant, when the great bulwark of the Papacy 
will be free, republican America. I am quite well 
aware that to some the statement will seem absurd. 
One who ventures to make it will hardly be credited 
with the gift of prophecy. But taking the facts as 
they already are, and the declared intent of Roman - 
ism, with things continuing as they are, what more 
will the supremacy of the Papacy be than the logical 
result of these acknowledged premises ? It is not to 

* Extract from Colonial Kecords, Paper 682: “It being one 
chief object of yt ould deluder, Satan, to keepe men from, the 
knowledge of ye Scripture, as in former times by keeping ym in 
an unknowne tongue, so in these lattr times by peisuading from 
ve use of tongues, yt so at least ye true sence and meaning of ye 
originall might be clouded by false glosses of saint-seeming de- 
cievers” (a palpable allusion to the Douai version), “ yt learning 
may not be buried in ye graves of ye fathrs in ye church and com- 
monwealth, ye Lord assisting our endeavours. — It is therefore 
ordered that every township,’* etc. 


520 


APPENDIX. 


be barred by calling it an impossibility, and styling 

those who fear it alarmists 

But, says the Protestant indifferently and the 
Catholic sneeringly, “ What are you going to do 
about it?” There is but one answer to be made to 
both : Fight it, everywhere and always — in all law- 
ful ways — with every legitimate weapon. Fight it, 
till Antichrist loses heart and hope. Fight it, till 
it is settled beyond the possibility of reversion that 
Protestantism is to rule America. — Extract from a 
tract on “ Eomanism Abroad and at Home ” published 
by the American and Foreign Christian Union . 


OUR COMMON SCHOOLS IN DANGER. 

A bill has been introduced into the Assembly at 
Albany, which, should it become a law, would sum- 
marily destroy the present Board of Education and 

revolutionize all the public schools of the city 

The ultimate design is to take the education of our 
children practically out of the control of the Board 
of Education and place it in the hands of the Romish 
priests. Even now a large number of the teachers 
are members of that Church, and we know of at least 
one of the largest schools in the city with no Protest- 
ant instructor, unless it may be the Principal. We 
are aware that the Board is not responsible for the 


APPENDIX. 


52} 


appointment of teachers. These are made by the 
School Trustees of the several wards; the Board of 
Education only having the power, in case of Princi- 
pals and vice-Principals of the schools, to refuse to 
confirm the selections made by the ward officers. 
The hospital and asylum schools, under the charge 
of Romanists exclusively, are now supported in part 
by liberal appropriations from the school fund, and 
the purpose is to demand similar aid for all parish 
schools, arid have these attached to each church. 
Already nearly every Romish church in the city has 
its parish school, and what is now Avanted is the 
privilege to take sufficient money out of the public 
purse to support them. It does not seem possible 
that any such wicked scheme as this can pass the 
Legislature, or, if passed, receive the signature of a 
Governor who has lived in this city and witnessed 
the beneficent effects of the Common School System 
among the children of the poor. Still, it will be well 
for good citizens to aid the Board of Education in 
the measures they have taken to defeat the plot. — 
N. Y. Evangelist , March 25, 1869. 


HOW THEY DO IT. 

We referred the other day to an article in the 
Educational Monthly , advocating a division of the 


522 


APPENDIX. 


school fund among the sects, so as to give Roman 
Catholics the public money to support their schools. 
We now understand that the article was written by a 
Roman Catholic, and himself the editor of another 
monthly. We thus see the art and science of Roman 
Jesuitism : instead of first printing his article in his 
own periodical, he finds a place for it in an educa- 
tional magazine, where it appears editorially, and 
thus the impression is made that it comes from the 
Protestant world, or, at least, from outside of the 
Roman Catholic. — N. Y. Observer , March 4, 1869. 


EDUCATIONAL STATISTICS. 

Under the Papal rule nine-tenths of the Italian 
people on an average could neither read nor write. 
The best figures were gained from Piedmont and 
Northern Italy; the next 'best, or rather worst, 
in Southern Italy; the worst of all in the Roman 
states. At this present time there are in Naples 
alone forty thousand children between five and four- 
teen who are never found in school. 

Collections for the American College at 
Rome. — The following is a list of the sums con- 
tributed by the different Roman Catholic dioceses 
through which Rev. G. H. Doane has lately traveled 


APPENDIX. 


523 


in making collections for the American College in 
Rome: New York, $44,500; St. Louis, $25,487; 
Baltimore, $21,155; Philadelphia, $16,920; Cincin- 
nati, $12,455; Pittsburg, $10,155.50; Newark, 
$9,220; Mobile, $5,030; Boston, $5,000; Hartford, 
$5,000 ; Cleveland, $5,000 ; Rochester, $5,000 ; New 
Orleans, $1,575; Albany, $1,500; Sundries, $5. 
Total, $168,002.50. 


WEALTH OF THE ROMISH CHURCH. 

The Roman Catholics are acquiring so great an 
estate in the United States, and acquiring it so rapidly, 
that it becomes a matter of public concern how they 
get it, what they do with it, and, especially, what 
they will do with it by and by, when it shall have 
become the largest property held in the country by 
or for an organization. Other organizations usually 
live from hand to mouth ; but somehow the Catho- 
lics always contrive to have a little money ahead to 
invest for the future. The Catholic Church, seven- 
tenths of whose members are exempt from the in- 
come tax because their income is under a thousand 
dollars a year, is a capitalist, and has the advantage 
over other organizations which a man has over his 
fellows who, besides earning his livelihood, has a 
thousand dollars to operate with. There are spots in 


524 


APPENDIX. 


the Western country, over which the prairie winds 
now sweep without obstruction, that will one day be 
the sites of great cities. A professor of one of our 
Western colleges saw, two years ago, at Rome a 
better map of the country west of the Mississippi 
than he ever saw at home; upon which the line of 
the Pacific Railroad was traced, and every spot was 
dotted where a settlement would naturally gather, 
and a conjecture recorded as to its probable import- 
ance. The Roman Catholics mark those spots, and 
construct maps upon which not existing towns alone 
are indicated, but probable towns also. Five hun- 
dred dollars judiciously invested in certain localities 
now will buy land which, in fifty years, or in twenty, 
may be worth one hundred millions. Thirty-seven 
years ago the best thousand acres of the site of 
Chicago could have been bought for a dollar and a 
quarter an acre ; and there is one man now in Chicago 
who owns a lot worth twenty thousand dollars which 
he bought of the government for fifteen cents and 
five-eighths. Now, there are in the Roman Catholic 
Church men whose business it is to turn such facts to 
the advantage of the Church, and there is also a 
systematic provision of money for them to expend 
for the purpose. 

Look at our island of Manhattan ! Sixty-seven 
years ago there were but one or two small Catholic 


APPENDIX . 


525 


churche3 upon it. It was not until 1808 that there 
was such a personage as a Roman Catholic bishop of 
New York. Run over the diocese now, and what do 
we find ? Churches, 88 ; chapels attached to institu- 
tions, 29 ; colleges and theological 'Seminaries, 4 ; 
Academies and select schools, 23; parochial schools, 
me to nearly every church ; charitable asylums and 
hospitals, 11; religious communities of men, 6; of 
women, 10. But this enumeration, as every New 
Yorker knows, conveys no idea of the facts. Every- 
thing which the Roman Catholics buy or build is 
bought or built with two objects in view — duration 
and growth. Hence massive structures and plenty 
of land ! Wherever on this island, or on the lovely 
waters near it, you observe a spot upon which nature 
and circumstances have assembled every charm and 
every advantage, there the foresight and enterprise 
of this wonderful organization have placed, or are 
placing, something enormous and solid with a cross 
over it. The marble cathedral which is to contain ten 
thousand persons is going up on the precise spot on 
the Fifth avenue which will be the very best for the 
purpose as long as the city stands. Yet when that 
site was selected, several years ago, in the rocky wilds 
beyond the cattle-market, no one would have felt its 
value except a John Jacob Astor or a Roman Cath- 
olic Archbishop. Th is marvelous Church so pos- 


526 


APPENDIX. 


Besses itself of its members that Catholic priests are 
as wise and acute and pushing for the Churoh as the 
consummate man of business is for his own estate. 
The Paulist Fathers, when they planted themselves 
on the Ninth avenue opposite Weehawken, bought a 
whole block; and thus, for less money than one 
house-lot will be worth in five years, secured room 
enough for the expansion of their community and its 
operations for ten centuries ! And there is the Con- 
vent of the Sacred Heart, in the upper part of the 
island — the old Lorillard country-seat ; and the great 
establishment of the Sisters of Charity on the Hud- 
son, where Edwin Forrest built his toy-castle — were 
ever sites better chosen ? Mark, too, the extent of 
the grounds, the solidity of the buildings, and the 
torethought and good sense which have presided over 
all the arrangements. 

All these things cost money, though bought and 
ouilt with most admirable economy. Fifty million 
dollars’ worth of land and buildings the Church prob- 
ably owns in the diocese of New York; one half of 
which, perhaps, it acquired by buying land when 
land was cheap, and keeping it till it, has become 
dear. Protestants will not fail to note the wisdom 
of this, and to reflect upon the weakness and dis- 
tracted inefficiency of our mode of doing business. 
But the question remains : How was the other half 


appendix. 


527 


of this great estate accumulated in half a century by 
an organization drawing its revenues chiefly from 
mechanics, small storekeepers, laborers and servant- 
girls ? Why, in the simplest way possible, and with- 
out laying a heavy burden on any one. The glory 
of the Catholic Church, as we all know, is, that it 
is the Church of the poor, and in this fact consists its 
strength as well as its glory. 

***** * 

The regular revenues of a Catholic church in a 
city are numerous and large. Here is the Church of 
St. Stephen’s, for example ; let us endeavor to esti- 
mate its income : 


Six-o’clock mass on Sunday morning $10.00 

Seven-o’clock mass “ “ 25.00 

Nine-o’clock “ “ “ 25.00 

Sunday-school collection 10.00 

High mass at half-past ten... 40.00 

Vespers 20.00 

Six week-day masses, in all 25.00 

Total weekly income $155.00 


This is equal to $8,060 for a year. Add to this 
the rent of 600 pews, at an average of $75 each, and 
we have an annual revenue of $53,060. The pew- 
rent, I believe, averages more than this; although 
the pews stand open to every comer, except at high 
mass and vespers. 


528 


APPENDIX ; 


Such is iho income. The expenses are not great: 


Pastor’s salary $600 

Three a«sistant priests, in all 1,200 

Sexton, not more than...... 1,000 

Organist, probably 1,000 

Choir, about 4,000 

Tire and gas, possibly 1,000 

Total expenses $8,800 


This leaves an excess of income over expenditure 
of $42,260. This excess, except a small annual tax 
for the archbishop and the general interests of the 
diocese, is all expended in the parish. Upon most 
of these new city churches there is a debt which has 
to be provided for. If the parish is old enough to 
be out of debt, you may be sure it needs a new or an 
enlarged church, for which a fund is forming. If 
its church is sufficient and the parsonage adequate, 
then you may expect to see the pastor directing the 
construction of a parochial school-house, large enough 
to draw off from the overcrowded public schools of 
the neighborhood the two thousand too many chil- 
dren on their rolls. Or perhaps there is connected 
with the church a religious community, whose opera- 
tions are expensive. Thus, by the unstimulated, 
quiet operation of the system, all our cities will be 
covered with costly Catholic structures, which will 


APPENDIX. 


529 


constantly increase in splendor and number. — At- 
lantic Monthly , April , 1868, Art. “ Our Roman Catho~ 
lie Brethren .” 


BENEFACTIONS TO “OUR ESTABLISHED CHURCH” 
IN NEW YORK. 

Not far from the year 1847 the diligent explorei 
of our annual statutes will find, almost for the first 
time, a few donations for charitable purposes quietly 
stowed away in the depths of the “Act making ap- 
propriations for the support of the government” for 
the current year. Here and there also begin to ap- 
pear special statutes for like purposes ; as, for exam- 
ple, the Act in 1849 (chap. 279), appropriating $9,000 
of money raised by general tax to the Hospital of the 
Sisters of Charity in Buffalo. From this point, how- 
ever, the honorable rivalry of parties was producing 
a like result to that which attends the not dissimilar 
emulation of a public auction. The bids rose one 
above another with a boldness which possibly was 
not diminished by the fact that the bidders were offer- 
ing what did not belong to them. From year to year 
more and larger benefactions of this class were found 
necessary to “ the support of the government,” until 
in 1866 they had multiplied sufficiently to be col- 
lected into a district “ Charity Bill,” which has been 

46 2 I 


530 


APPENDIX. 


annually enacted ever since as solicitously as if, like 
the English Mutiny Act, all our liberties depended 
upon it. At the same time, and by a movement 
almost precisely parallel, the yearly statute-book has 
been encumbered annually to a greater degree with 
the enactments which authorize, the one for the city 
of New York, the other for the precisely contermi- 
nous county, the levy of such sums as the State deems 
adequate for municipal government, and which pre- 
scribe the general objects for which they may be ex- 
pended. Exactly in like manner there begin to be 
discovered in these “ Tax Levy 5 ' bills, considerably 
less than twenty years ago, the same germs which 
have fructified so bountifully in the general “ Charity 
Bill ” for the State at large. By virtue of the enact- 
ment last mentioned the State paid out during the 
year 1866 for benefactions under religious control, 
$129,025.49. Of this a Jewish society received 
$2,484.32 ; four organizations of the Protestant sects 
had $2,367.03, while the trifling balance of $124,- 
174.14 went to the religious purposes of the Estab- 
lishment. Looking, by way of variety, at the follow- 
ing year for data regarding the strictly municipal 
gifts for like purposes, we find from the last repoit 
of the Comptroller of the city that during 1867 there 
was paid to Catholic ecclesiastical institutions the 
sum of near $200,000, aside from what may lie hid- 


APPENDIX. 


531 


den in a vast total of more than a million, of which 
the details can be found only in the report of the 
u Department of Public Charities and Correction.” 
While there are other benefactions in the list, hardly 
any are for objects having even remotely a religious 
character, and not one for a sectarian object. And if 
the proportion thus indicated holds good in the State 
and civic gratuities of 1868, which exceed, we can 
hardly say by how much, the princely sum of half a 
million,* it must be conceded that the Church is in a 
fair way of obtaining its own, with, perhaps, a trifle 
of what others might lay some claim to. 

* * * * * 

Sad stories have been hinted from time to time, 

* The State Comptroller reports as paid by the State alone last 
year,. to “ Orphan Asylums, etc.,” $141,328.84, and adds that this 
sum is exclusive of $201,000 appropriated by the “Charity Bill.” 
***** 

The reports of various charitable institutions to the Comptroller 
of the State in 1863 show the following valuation of property 
owned by those named, over and above their indebtedness. There 
is no reason to believe that any of the institutions has over-estb 
mated its own property : 

Boman Catholic Orphan Asylum, Brooklyn $161,231.43 


Boman Catholic Orphan Asylum, New York 235,000.00 

St Joseph’s Asylum, New York 127,000.00 

Society for the Protection of Boman Catholic Chil- 
dren, New York 205,760.09 

•St. Mary’s Hospital, Rochester 197,912.25 


532 


APPENDIX. 


within these few years past, of something like sooan- 
drelism in dealing with and getting rid of vast prop- 
erties — the ferries, docks, markets and various blocks 
and tracts of land — on the part of the New York 
government. It is not for us to sit in judgment upon 
those functionaries, nor to conjecture how much of 
the municipal property, so far from having stolen^ 
they have, with the high virtue of those who let not 
their left hand know what their right hand doeth — 
who “do good by stealth and blush to find it fame” — 
quietly devoted to the pious uses of the Church. But 
the last Comptroller’s report contains, with regard to 
certain of the real estate which yet remains on the 
island of Manhattan, some interesting avowals, by 
which the city government is willing to let its light 
so shine before men that they may see its works and 
glorify its father, which is — no matter where. In the 
schedule of city property subject to payment of ground 
rent (pp. 166-169), we find that the premises on 
“ Fifty-first street and Lexington avenue” are leased 
to the (Catholic) Nursery and Child’s Hospital ; that 
the lease is dated April 1, 1857, is perpetual , and for 
the annual rent of one dollar, which was three years 
in arrear. That the property on “Eighty-first and 
Eighty-second streets and Madison avenue ” is leased 
to the “ Sisters of Mercy that the lease (the date of 
which is not given) is perpetual , and the annual rent 


APPENDIX. 


533 


one dollar, which, however, had been paid until 
within two years of the report. That the land on 
“ Fifty-first and Fifty-second streets, Fourth and 
Fifth avenues,” was leased April 1, 1857, to “The 
Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum,” perpetually , for 
the annual rent of one dollar. This sum, however, 
it is gratifying to observe, has been fully paid to the 
end of 1867. 

Upon some part of this property, or upon another 
tract held by a like title and upon similar terms, is in 
course of erection the new St. Patrick’s Cathedral, 
which is intended to be worthy of its proud rank of 
metropolitan church of this great Commonwealth. 
From estimates of those competent to appraise land 
in New York, it appears that these blocks alone are 
worth not less, than $3,000,000. It may be con- 
cluded, therefore, that the city would get the worth 
of this property if it applied every payment upon the 
principal, asking nothing for interest, in about one 
million years. 

Thus increasingly munificent in their provision for 
the maintenance of a Church establishment have been 
the rulers of an American State, during a generation 
noted for the fiercest onslaughts, in other lands, upon 
the sacred institutions of antiquity, and in which 
scoffers have pretended to discover more “spiritual 
wickedness” than pure spirituality in the “ high 

45 * 


534 


APPENDIX. 


places” of politics. In so extraordinary a ratio, too, 
has this devout allotment of the public revenues in- 
creased, that what in 1849 was but about $13,000, 
and that given but grudgingly, is grown to not far 
from $500,000 in 1868, bestowed with the frank 
generosity of those who give of others’ goods. If 
some crabbed rustic, the slowness of whose toilsome 
gains begets a narrow curiosity concerning the manner 
of disposing of them, or whose sectarian jealousy sets 
him against the Church of the Commonwealth, shall 
reckon that this rate of increase, far beyond the in- 
crease of the Church, will bring the annual gift to 
$40,000,000 in 1918, and to $80,000,000 in 1968, we 
need only smile at his hedge-philosophy. It is quite 
enough that these benefactions should continue upon 
the scale they have now reached for a few years 
longer. 

* * * sk * * 

Nor does the Church longer stand, as once it did, 
in the attitude (well as the attitude becomes Christ’s 
poor) of a mendicant at the door of the State-house, 
asking for gratuities toward the support of its separate 
schools. It has already established by action in the 
Supreme Court the clear legal right of its orphan 
asylums, numerous as they are and liberal as they are 
in the degree of bereavement required for admission 
to their scholastic privileges, to an equal participation 


APPENDIX . 


535 


in all moneys raised by taxation for school purposes 
in the State, in proportion to their number of pupils.* 
* * * * ¥ * 

It might, perhaps, be worth while, if any one 
should prefer mere superficial or external signs of 
supremacy, to notice a few such as may be found in 
the city of New York itself. Not many a State 
Church in the present age imposes the test of mem- 
bership as a condition to hold civil office. The 
Ch urch in Austria does not ; in England it has not 
for forty years; in France not for eighty. It does 
not yet in New York. How near it comes to it may 
be partly guessed by any one who will look over a 
fist of New York elective officers with the discrimi- 
nating sense of him who “ knew the stranger was an 
American from his name — O’Flaherty.” If the in- 
ference from nationality should be deemed illusive, 
because not all Irishmen are Catholics, let it be re- 
membered that the Catholics who are not Irish will 
far more than make such an error good. Such re- 
searches would show a judiciary adorned with the 
names of Shandley, Conolly, Hogan, and Dennis 
Quinn, and would lead us into very green fields of 
nomenclature ; but some one else has prepared, from 
better data than mere names, the following summary 
of Irish office-holders as they were at the end of 1868 : 

* St. Patrick's Orphan Asylum vs. Board of Education , Rochester . 


536 


APPENDIX . 


Sheriff, 

Register, 

Comptroller, 

City Chamberlain, 

Corporation Counsel, 

Police Commissioner, 

President of the Croton Board, 

Acting Mayor and President of the Board of Al- 
dermen, 

President of the Board of Councilmen, 

Clerk of the Common Council, 

Clerk of the Board of Councilmen, 

President of the Board of Supervisors, 

Five Justices of the Courts of Record, 

All the Civil Justices, 

All but two of the Police Justices, 

All the Police Court Clerks, 

Three out of four Coroners, 

Two Members of Congress, 

Three out of five State Senators, 

Eighteen out of twenty-one Members of Assembly, 
Fourteen-nineteenths of the Common Council, and 
Eight-tenths of the Supervisors. 

Nor would even a tabular statement of office- 
holders, however complete, fully illustrate the influ- 
ence of Our Church upon politics, unless it could 
include also all those non-Catholic officers or candi- 


APPENDIX. 


537 


dates, from Justices of the Supreme Court down — or 
up — who find it to their interest to be liberal con- 
tributors to Catholic charities or building funds, or 
promptly-paying pew-owners in one or more Catholic 
churches. So far does the Church permit its favorite 
dogma of justification by works to extend even to 
those whose words frankly deny the faith. — Putnam’s 
Magazine , July, 1869; Article , “ Our Established 
Church .” 


THE DIOCESE OF MASSACHUSETTS. 

The Pilot (Roman Catholic) indulges in a little nat- 
ural pride in the increase of Romanism in the diocese 
of Boston, which includes, w T e believe, the whole 
State of Massachusetts. When it is remembered that 
the distinguished Cheverus was consecrated bishop no 
longer ago than 1810, w^e do not wonder that the 
Pilot congratulates its readers on the progress of its 
denomination in what it calls “the commercial and 
intellectual centre of the land of the Puritans.” 
Here are the figures in a nutshell : 

There are in the diocese of Boston, the State of 
Massachusetts, 128 churches, and 8 building; 36 
chapels and stations; 155 priests, and 11 ordained 
since the last report ; 88 clerical students ; 3 male 


538 


APPENDIX. 


and 15 female religious institutions; 2 male literary 
institutions; and 3 female academies; and 13 paro- 
chial free schools ; aggregate number of pupils, 5,855. 
Hospitals and orphan asylums, 5 each ; and 550 or- 
phans. There are 12 benevolent and charitable in- 
stitutions, and a Catholic population of over 350,000 
in the entire diocese. 

The Boston Watchman well says, in view of these 
statistics : u No man, be he preacher or laymen, has 
a moral right to complain of the progress of Roman- 
ism, or any other form of doctrine he considers erro- 
neous or radically wrong, so long as he fails to exert 
himself to the utmost to propagate what he honestly 
believes to be the true and the right. Protestants 
have a long lesson to learn in ‘these respects from 
Catholic priests and people.” — N. Y. Evangelist , July 
22, 1869. 


APPROPRIATIONS FOR ROMANISM BY THE LEGIS- 
LATURE OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK FOR THE 
YEAR 1866. 

The New York Legislature made religious appro- 
priations last year to the amount of $129,029 49 
The remarkable fact appears that only $4,855 35 of 
this sum was for the benefit of Protestant and Hebrew 


APPENDIX. 539 

associations, the balance being for Roman Catholic 
institutions. The following is a partial list : 

Evangelical Lutheran, St. John’s Orphan Home, Buffalo. $9 93 
Free School of the Academy of the Sacred Heart, Man- 

hattanville 346 04 

Le Cauteuxl, St. Mary’s Deaf and Dumb Asylum, Buf- 
falo. 24 62 

Orphan Home and Asylum of the Protestant Episcopal 

Church, New York 777 59 

Protestant Half Orphan Asylum, New York 1,304 87 

Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum, Brooklyn, 1864 2,189 21 

Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum, Brooklyn, 1865 2,476 74 

Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum, New York 4,340 63 

Society for the Protection of Destitute Roman Catholic 

Children, New York 2,505 71 

St. John’s Catholic Orphan Asylum, Utica 310 52 

St. Joseph’s Orphan Asylum, New York 1,007 48 

St. Joseph’s Male Orphan Asylum, Buffalo 318 90 

St. Joseph’s German Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum, 

Rochester. 9 25 

St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum, Canandaigua... 26 21 

St. Mary’s Boys’ Orphan A sylnm, Rochester 89 40 

St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum, Dunkirk 423 04 

St. Patrick’s Female Orphan Asylum, Rochester 238 75 

St. Vincent’s Female Orphan Asylum, Troy 180 07 

St. Vincent’s Orphan Asylum, Albany 766 63 

St. Vincent’s Female Orphan Asylum, Buffalo 267 62 

St. Vincent’s Infant Asylum, Buffalo 104 11 

St. Vincent’s Male Orphan Asylum, Utica 213 90 

St Vincent de Paul Orphan Asylum, Syracuse 345 51 

The Church Charity Foundation, Brooklyn, 1864 118 42 


540 


APPENDIX. 


The Chur* h Charity Foundation, Brooklyn, 1865...., .... $156 22 

Troy Catholic Male Orphan Asylum 448 71 

St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum, Clifton (special appropria- 
tion) 500 00 

St. Joseph’s Male Orphan Asylum, Buffalo (special ap- 
propriation) 1,000 00 

St. Vincent’s Male Orphan Asylum, Utica (special ap- 
propriation) 1,000 00 

Buffalo Hospital, Sisters of Charity 8,949 84 

Buffalo St. Mary’s Lying-in Hospital 1,646 10 

Jews’ Hospital and Hebrew Benevolent Society, New 

York - 2,484 32 

Rochester St. Mary’s Hospital 8,845 14 

Rochester St. Mary’s Hospital (additional special ap- 
propriation) 2,000 00 

Buffalo St. Mary’s Lying-in Hospital (additional special 

appropriation) i.Q00 00 

Church of the Immaculate Conception, New York 1,000 00 

St. Mary’s Church and School, New York 2,000 00 

St. Bridget’s Church School, New York 1,000 00 

Special Donation for the Protection of Destitute Roman 

Catholic Orphan Children 78,500 00 

■— New York Tribune , June 1, 1867, 

This is for one year only. 


APPENDIX. 


541 


N. B. Oct. 15, 1869. — Since the first edition was issued 
additional information has been received of the remarkable 
Cracow nun imprisonment case, the first telegram respecting 
which appears on page 512, under date of July 27th. Also 
another case of very considerable interest has occurred in 
Cracow, both which are now appended. 


THE HORRORS OF THE INQUISITION REVIVED. 

A voice from an Austrian tomb reaches us this week, which 
reveals heartlessness and cruelty such as the old Inquisition 
could hardly emulate. In the Carmelite convent of Cracow a 
nun was found, who is alleged to have been shut up for twenty- 
one years, or since 1848, in a dungeon seven paces long and 
six wide. That she was in such a place was ‘learned by the 
officers of the town from a note sent them and written in a 
fine hand. The officers broke through the nun-keepers, and 
found the following facts : 

In a. dark, stinking hole, on a heap of straw, sat, or rather 
cowered, a naked, wild-grown, half-witted woman, who, at the 
unusual appearance of light and human beings, dropped her 
hands and implored piteously, “I am hungry, pity me, give 
me meat; I will be obedient.’ ’ This dungeon, -with its little 
straw and much filth, and a dish of mouldy potatoes, without 
fire, bed, table, or even chair, which no sunshine cheered, or 
fire blaze ever warmed, had the inhuman Sisters chosen as the 
dwelling-place for their should-be companion ; there had they 
imprisoned her year after year since 1848. For twenty-one 
years did those dreadful Sisters pass that cell, and to none of 
them had it ever entered to take compassion on their poor 
victim. And now, half human, half beast, with her body 
covered .with dirt, with her legs shrunk and withered, wdth her 


542 


APPENDIX. 


head squalid, diseased, year upon year long unwashed, a ter* 
rible being revealed herself, such as Dante himself, with ah 
his powers, could not have depicted or imagined. 

It seems as though this could not be true. That such a dis- 
covery should be made in 1869 is almost incredible. Yet the 
facts come too well authenticated to be doubted. A judge 
visited the convent, and then called the bishop. It is said the 
bishop was deeply moved, and, turning to the assembled nuns, 
vehemently reproached them for their inhumanity. 4 ‘ Is this, ’ ’ 
he said, “what you call love of your neighbor? Furies, not 
women, that you are, is it thus that you purpose to enter the 
kingdom of heaven?” The nuns ventured to excuse their 
conduct, but the bishop would not hear them. “ Silence, you 
wretches!” he exclaimed; “away, out of sight, you who dis- 
grace religion!^ The father confessor, Piantkiewicz, an old 
priest, who was present, dared to observe that the ecclesiastical 
authorities were aware of this scandal ; whereupon the bishop 
and prelate, Spital, denied his assertion, and at once suspended 
lire father confessor, and also the superioress, who is descended 
from an old honorable Polish noble family. 

The poor nun, whose name is Barbara Ubryk, was asked why 
she had been immured. She answered, “ I have broken the vow 
of' chastity;” but then added, with fearful gesture and a wild 
spring, * These nuns also are not pure ; they are not angels. ’ ’ 
Then she sprang on the confessor, crying, “Thou beast!” On 
seeing the sunlight and green grass of the convent garden, she 
convulsed with extreme joy. 

Justice is now following its course, but there are great im* 
pediments thrown in the way. The cause may be shipwrecked 
by the obstacles made by the ecclesiastical authorities in regard 
to the testimony of nuns. The nuns wear thick veils when 
examined by the magistrate, to that he cannot sell who is the 


APPENDIX . 


543 


witness before him. The Concordat is still a cause of entan* 
gJement in Austria, but this deplorable incident will clear up 
the relations of Church and State. u To curse and oppress,’ 
one of the Viennese journals observes, “is known at Rome, 
but there is neither the strength nor the will to free from the 
most crying abuses.” It is said that the immuring of this 
nun was known even some ten years ago at Cracow, but that 
the Concordat and the Imperial policy opposed invincible ob- 
stacles to inquiry. 

The whole case is one of the most horrible which has come 
to light in years. Yet it is suspected by many that not a few 
such cases exist in the convents of the old countries, of which 
nothing has ever been or will be knowm outside of the convent 
walls. It is some satisfaction to know that hopes were enter- 
tained that by careful nursing the nun so long imprisoned may 
be restored to sufficient strength to be able to tell the story of 
her wrongs and sufferings . — New York Evangelist , August 19 , 
1869. 


MORE NUNNERY HORRORS. 

A letter from Cracow says : The religious houses are get- 
ting into new difficulties every day, but Cracow seems to be 
particularly unfortunate in this respect. A miner belonging 
to the Wietic-zka salt mines became attached to a young Jew- 
ess, and his love was returned, but her parents would not hear 
>f her union with a Christian, and betrothed her to a member 
of her own faith. The marriage was fixed for an early day, 
and in the mean time the young lady was sent to some rela- 
tions at the village of Kossocice, between Cracow and Wie- 
ticzka. About ten days ago a band of from twenty to thirty 
men, the friends of the rejected lover, appeared in the nighl 


I 


544 


APPENDIX. 


' ' 3 ? 

6,2 S' A- /. 


at the cottage in which she was staying, surrounded it and 
carried her off by force. ‘ Her family succeeded in tracing her 
bo the nunnery of the Visiterins in Cracow, and applied to the 
various authorities to procure her release, but without success. 
Last Wednesday the father of the young lady, whose name is 
Perlberg, received a letter from her, declaring that she was de- 
tained against her will, and begging him to effect her deliver 
ance. As more legitimate means had failed, Perlberg collected 
a considerable number of his fellow-believers — who were rein 
forced by numerous Christians, especially Cracow students— 
and marched to the nunnery. The Lady Superior was intimi 
dated by the appearance of such a formidable army, and, after 
some parley, admitted the father to an interview with his 
daughter. The latter declared with many tears that she wished 
to leave the nunnery at once, but to this the Lady Principal 
would not consent. Perlberg then called in his forces, released 
nis daughter and carried her off amidst the shouts of the crowd. 
If ever there w r as a case in which a man was justified in tak- 
ing the law into his "own hands, it was this. But the fact of 
its being necessary to have recourse to such means does not 
cast a very favorable light on the Cracow police or its Church 
dignitaries . — New York Observer , Sept. 16, 1869. 


THE END 



















































